


light the fire yourself

by brosura



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Banter, Blood and Violence, M/M, Religious Conflict, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Vampire Hunters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-05 21:18:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12802593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brosura/pseuds/brosura
Summary: A year after the gates of hell open on the land of Lucis, Prompto Argentum, last living member of the monster hunting House Argentum, does everything in his power to stave off the hordes of demons and protect the people.Ignis Scientia, magic practitioner from a travelling clan of scholars known as the Speakers, does everything in his power to keep Prompto alive.They find their respective missions are...complicatedby the secrets they keep from each other, the blood thirsty demons that terrorize the land at night, and the looming threat of a prophecy hanging over their heads.





	1. you were alone and steady with wintry calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHATS UP LADS GET A LOAD OF THIS SLOW BURN VAMPURE HUNT AU VERY LOOSELY INSPIRED BY NETFLIX’S CASTLEVANIA (but not the game castlevania III because i was not alive when that came out) 
> 
> this is my submission to the [promnised land](https://promnised-land.tumblr.com/) [big bang](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/promnisedlandbigbang2017) and a very procrastinated on three month labor! special thanks to [onlytorgatointheworld](http://onlytorgatointheworld.tumblr.com/) for help with editing and [faygosmayhem](https://faygosmayhem.tumblr.com/) for cheering me on along the way! also, thank you to [homicidalmagpie](http://homicidalmagpie.tumblr.com/) for coming in clutch for some dope art y'all will see below!
> 
> ENJOY!

(art by [homicidalmagpie](http://homicidalmagpie.tumblr.com/) @ tumblr)

* * *

 

Prompto wakes up in a dizzy haze.

It’s a combination of the pain and the liquor. He’s still a little drunk, he can tell by the heaviness of his limbs, the stuffy feeling between his eyes. But he’s edging closer to sober with each throbbing wave of pain throughout his body. It’s warm, though, and he lets himself wallow in the feeling, the numbness of a mind that consciousness hasn’t fully reached.

The memories come back slowly. He’d been drinking, hoping to get warm enough to stave off the night’s chill. The bar had been loud, despite there only being three people, not including himself. There’d been talk of the horde, the demons were supposedly closing in on the village he’d made it to by nightfall and he’d been on his fifth pint when-

He startles awake, right arm reaching for where his knife would be. He freezes, eyes squeezing shut, when the low, throbbing pain becomes a shooting, sharp thing in his middle.

“Don’t get up,” he hears next to him, stern and deep. He feels warm hands gently push on his shoulder, making for him to lie down, and finds he doesn’t have the energy to resist them. “I’ve barely managed to stitch you together, wouldn’t do for you to fall apart only a moment after I’d finished.”

The tone of the stranger is just exasperated enough for Prompto to find himself laughing, breathless and pained, in response. He isn’t such a fool that he trusts him, but he also isn’t so overwhelmed with options that he has much of a choice in the matter. And something about the stranger seems familiar, but Prompto’s too busy forcing his eyes shut to look at him, as if that would be enough to stave off the pain. He tries harder to remember how he’s gotten here.

_There had been a fight last night in the bar. One that Prompto had lost._

_He remembers throwing punches, getting a few hits in, dropping a man to the floor. Then he remembers a large man pinning him down, shadows circling him._

_“Thought you Argentums were supposed to be hard to kill,” someone had said, deep and full of hate. “Guess not.”_

He remembers nothing else.

He curses, gritting his teeth against the pain. They’d probably taken the crossbow, with how they’d been ogling it when he’d come in the bar. It’d be easy enough to recover - they were just drunks, after all - but from the throbbing pain in his right arm, he can’t quite tell if it’s a hopeless venture. If they’d realized how much he’d needed his hands and thought to take them from him as well.

“Stranger,” he says, trying to keep the frantic energy from his voice. “My right hand. How’d it fare?”

“The arm was dislocated. I had to set it, but nothing else was wrong with it, your hand included,” the stranger says. It’s the accent that’s familiar, Prompto realizes. “I imagine it’ll be sore for a while and you should refrain from _stunts_ like the ones you pulled last night in the near future, but you’ll regain full use of the arm in a very short time. I’m afraid your head is in a much more concerning condition, though, if you’d call an old friend ‘stranger’ so quickly.”  

An old friend, the accent. The pieces fall into place quickly and Prompto’s eyes fly open to the sight of a familiar face. It’s sharper, older, but familiar nonetheless, down to the sharp nose, the amused, slightly condescending curve of his lips.

“Ignis!” He grins, finding the pain has subsided to a wave of relief and excitement. Ignis smiles in turn, warm and familiar, and that’s a welcome sight to see. “You’ve gotten _older!”_

“Three years will do that to a person,” Ignis says with a roll of his eyes, but he’s still smiling.

“Three years and yet you haven’t changed your mind about _this,”_ Prompto laughs, finds that his left arm doesn’t hurt to move and lifts it to press two fingers against Ignis’ bare forehead. He blinks at the fingers, eyes going cross-eyed and Prompto laughs harder. “Still pushing back your hair to show off that big head of yours, I see. Does it still take an hour for you to get ready in the morning?”

“Half that much,” Ignis says, unfazed. He takes Prompto’s hand from his forehead and sets it down between them. “Does it still take half a pint to get you drunk?”

“Twice that much,” Prompto grins. He’s still giddy, disoriented from both the pain and the unexpected nature of this encounter. “Ignis. Gods, it’s so good to see you!”

“I would say the same about you, but you’re quite the mess,” Ignis teases, but there’s concern on his face as he brushes a hand over Prompto’s forehead, thumb just grazing a bruise. The contact is gentle, but Prompto winces at the unexpected throb of pain and Ignis’ expression turns apologetic. “You’re lucky I’d finally found you when I did, else I imagine we’d have seen the last of the Argentum line die on the floor of a bar in a village in the middle of _fucking_ nowhere.”

_“That’s_ a new one,” Prompto grins, viciously delighted for a moment by the unfamiliar sound of such a vulgar word coming from a man who looked as pristine as Ignis. Then the entirety of the sentence sets in and he asks, “You were looking for me?”

“Of course,” Ignis answers. He has an eyebrow raised, as if Prompto’s asking a stupid question with an obvious answer. Prompto almost laughs at how familiar the look is on him. “In case you haven’t noticed, the world has, well, _gone to hell.”_

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Prompto grumbles.

There’s an ache in his bones, an exhaustion. He’s been fighting nonstop since the start of this, after all. Since the very first day the armies of Hell descended on Lucis in the darkness of the night.

“We’d gotten word of you, you know. All the way in Duscae. Hearsay of a heretic armed with a demon’s weapon fighting off the horde in the outskirts. I figured that was you, you being the only heretic I’m familiar with.”

“Is that what they’re still calling me?” Prompto grumbles. “Did any of them say something nice? Even a _little_ nice?”

Prompto is pleased to watch as Ignis lets out a little huff of amusement. “The little village I’d passed through a ways back seemed quite grateful for the defenses you’d helped them build. They still called you a heretic, though.”

“Well, they fed me.” Prompto shrugs to the best of his ability, still prone on the floor of what appears to be a dingy shack. “Which makes them better company than _you_ so far, who has only called me heretic.”

“I come all this way and save your life, and I’m still bad company,” Ignis huffs, but he’s still got that amused quirk of the lips. “Sit up then, if you want to eat. _Slowly.”_

He puts both hands on Prompto’s shoulders to keep him from moving too abruptly, but Prompto doesn’t need to be reminded. His ribs scream in pain with every slight movement, but he gets himself sat up soon enough and Ignis wordlessly hands him a piece of bread as he settles against the wall. It’s still so fresh that it’s soft inside and Prompto almost cries at the unexpected luxury. He wolfs it down too quickly, but to his surprise Ignis doesn’t say a thing. He just watches with an unreadable expression.

It’s unnerving to be stared at, though, so Prompto lets his gaze wander around the shack as he chews. It’s a ramshackle thing, probably abandoned. But there’s soft hay on the ground below the blanket Ignis has laid Prompto on, and it’s warm where the grey light of dawn streams through the cracks in the wood. It might as well be the old Argentum Estate - before it’d been burned to ash on orders of the Church, of course - it’s so far removed from what Prompto’s used to.

He almost chokes on a mouthful of bread in relief at the sight of his crossbow leaning against the splintered wood of the wall, next to a small pile of his effects. Thank _God_ for Ignis.

“I take it this is the demon’s weapon,” Ignis says, following Prompto’s gaze. He lays it across his lap, sharp eyes skimming it up and down. “It’s only a crossbow.”

“Hey come on, Ignis. Not all peasants have the knowledge of a _Speaker.”_ He grins as Ignis scowls at him. Ignis had been so rebellious and nay-saying towards the end of Prompto’s stay in their clan, so hesitant to count himself among the ranks of his fellow Speakers. “I imagine a crossbow’s a spooky and devilish thing for a regular bowman. Besides, it isn’t _only_ a crossbow. It’s a genuine Argentum artifact!”

Ignis raises an eyebrow. “Where did you find it?”

“Up north, at the family tombs.” Prompto flinches and scans Ignis’ face to see if he’s made the connection to their fight.

He’s anxious when he finds that Ignis’ expression is inscrutable yet again.  

“So, not that I don’t appreciate the whole saving my life, _thing,_ but why’d you come looking for me?” Prompto asks, tentative, fiddling with the cloth of his pants. “Old Nan ask you to bring me lunch? Er, breakfast, by the looks of it.”

Prompto isn’t sure what to expect in the way of an answer. It’s been three years, after all. Three years after Ignis had told him, in a voice too rough with emotion to be cold, to _“Go and_ die _in the north then, if that’s what you want so much.”_ Three years after he’d left in the middle of the night in to avoid seeing Ignis and having his resolve shaken yet again, still warm from the fever that had forced him to return to the Speaker clan only two years into his quest for his family’s relics, a quest that would later find him in possession of his crossbow.

But also three years of turning to every flash of blue cloth in the hopes of seeing a Speaker’s robes and a familiar face. Three years of passing through every Speaker caravan with a shy greeting just to feel a little less homesick. Three years of holding on to an apology, not for seeking out his family’s only legacy, but for how he’d so deeply disregarded Ignis and the other Speakers who had raised him to do it. And a promise to do better, to be a stronger person, for everyone.

So he’s not sure what brought Ignis to him. Ignis, who’s had three years of his own to become a different person. He’s not sure what to expect for an answer.

But he’s not expecting Ignis’ inscrutable expression to suddenly become something familiar, something _mournful._

“Old Nan hasn’t asked anything for a year now,” Ignis says, barely above a whisper. He’s got his eyes fixed on the crossbow, doesn’t remove them, even as he returns it to its spot on the wall. He won’t look at Prompto and Prompto recognizes this from a cold winter when they had so little food. They'd lost two of their friends that year. His chest tightens, and he anticipates the words even before Ignis continues with, “She died not long after the start of this all.”

“Ah.”

It’s less an acknowledgement, more a rush of air as he collapses back to the ground. His ribs scream in protest as he lands on the meager cushion of a blanket thrown over some hay, but he welcomes the distraction of the pain this time.

They sit in silence for a moment, Ignis still focused on the crossbow leaning against the wall.

“Was it peaceful?” Prompto finally asks, though he already knows he’s just torturing himself. It’s too much to hope for in this shit world.

Ignis doesn’t look away from the bow, but his fists clench in his lap as he answers, “I wouldn’t call ‘burning at the stake’ peaceful, no.”

“Damn,” Prompto hisses, tossing his hand over his eyes. He doesn’t think he’ll cry, doesn’t think there’s enough water in him, honestly, but there’s a heavy weight on his chest regardless. _“Damn.”_

_Why wasn’t anything he did good enough?_ _Why wasn’t he ever strong enough? Why did he fail everyone again and again and again?_

_Why was he always too late?_

_Why was he always too fucking late?_

“Before you can get it in your head, this isn’t your fault.” Ignis’ voice cuts through his downward spiral, through the cruel voices dragging him deeper under the water. He lets his wrist fall from his eyes weakly to see something like rage swimming just under the surface of Ignis’ expression. “She protected some children from the demons with her magic, and the church called her a witch for it. She protected the _good people_ and the same good people turned around and killed her.”

Ignis cuts himself off with a hiss. The _“it was_ their _fault”_ goes unspoken.

Prompto doesn’t say a word, too surprised with this uncharacteristic anger to say anything. Ignis’ hands are still clenched so tight they’re turning white at the knuckles, and he unclenches and stretches them out with a deep sigh, something that looks almost like a ritual.

He meets Prompto’s eyes and looks so tired when he says, “I _genuinely_ don’t know why the lot of you bother.”

Prompto doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what he _can_ say, if he can say anything at all. If he’s allowed, after failing Old Nan and the Speakers like this. After failing Ignis like this.

For a Speaker in training, Ignis had always been doubtful of the way of the Speakers. But always the methodology or the impracticality of some of their beliefs: he’d never understood why they insisted on the purity of oral storytelling, always wanted them to _write things down_ for once.

Never _this._ Never questioning their calling to use their knowledge to help the people, to save lives.

What happened to him in Prompto’s absence? What happened to him after Prompto had left them? He aches to know, but at the same time he doesn’t think he can bear it.

Distantly, he hears Ignis sigh and feels a gentle flick on his forehead. He blinks to find Ignis smiling something small and sad at him.

“You asked why I came looking for you,” Ignis says, voice quiet. “Truthfully, I only wanted to know that you still lived, that you were safe. Well, as safe as you _could_ be.” Ignis sighs. “The world has certainly gone to hell.”

Prompto can’t manage to summon the words to respond, only a weak, wobbling smile that he’s guilty about because it’s genuine. He’s so happy to see Ignis again but he doesn’t deserve to be. Doesn’t deserve Ignis _or_ his kindness.

He should have died on the floor of that bar.

Ignis can’t possibly have read his mind, but Prompto flinches anyway when Ignis continues with, “And now it seems you’re determined to go down _with_ it.”

“Well, there isn’t much I can do,” Prompto says with a nervous chuckle. “I happen to live in this country, after all.”

“It’s one thing to die with the masses,” Ignis frowns, his words edging on sharp. “It’s another to throw yourself in front of them, into the very mouths of hell, when they’d just as soon plunge a knife into your back.”

“Come now.” Prompto tries to grin, sitting up slowly. “I’m an Argentum! Blood of heroes and all that. Slayers of demons and the things that go bump in the night. Saving people who don’t want to be saved is the only family legacy I’ve got.”

“‘Saving people who don’t want to be saved’ is a very noble way to put ‘dying for people who would see you dead.’” Ignis’ tone has gone a strange way that Prompto doesn’t quite recognize. There’s anger there, for certain, but it’s cooled with something that sounds almost like concern. “Or have you forgotten that this is the very legacy that left you an orphan?”

Prompto sighs, realizing that this is the kind of day where he’s going to be forced to remember all his dead. Well, it’s not so bad. Usually this kind of day is prefaced by nightmares. He’d slept soundly, at least.

“It’s not like I’ve forgotten,” Prompto says, and he means it. It’s impossible for him to forget. Not when he can still hear the desperate cries of his mother, whenever he looks at the book of their family’s secrets she’d shoved into his little hands as the shouts of men filled the halls of the family estate, whenever he uses his father’s whip. He can still hear her shouting _‘Go! Go, you damn boy!’_ as she pinched at his hand where it held onto hers with all the desperation of a fearful child. He can hear the crackling of flames. “I’d _never_ forget that day.”

“Then why?” The question is soft when it comes out, and Prompto doesn’t want to look at the expression on Ignis’ face.

“It’s just- It’s hard to ignore them, Ignis.” He moves to fiddle at the cloth string of his shirt. He’d thought about this, thought about this more than anything since that day he’d fought with Ignis three years ago. It’s just difficult to put into words. “Knowing what I know, being able to help and not helping, I just, I _can’t_ ignore them. I can’t do it. I know it’s hard to accept, but they’re all just _scared._ And they’re people, too. Good people and bad people, to be sure, but I can’t know which just by looking. What I do know is that they’re afraid and cold and hurting, just like you and me, and I can’t bear to let them live like that. I can’t just turn away if there’s the chance that even one innocent person is suffering. And if I can do anything, _anything,_ to help them, to ease the fear and the hurting, I’ll do it. Even if it means dying. Even if it means dying by their hands.”  

Ignis is quiet for a long, terrifying moment. Then, unexpectedly, he laughs. It’s just something soft and breathy, edging on that incredulous snort he’d let out whenever Prompto mixed up his stories during tutoring, it’s just a moment, but it fills Prompto with relief all the same. He blinks to find Ignis smiling at him again.

“You really haven’t changed,” Ignis says, eyes gleaming. He reaches over to gently flick Prompto on the forehead again. “Still an idiot, after all these years. And stubborn, too. I don’t suppose any amount of reason would change your mind?”

“You know me.” Prompto gives him a wobbling smile. “Unreasonable.”

“To a fault,” Ignis sighs. “I suppose that it’s good that I’m here, then. At least one of us needs both feet on the ground, and with the amount I saw you drinking _and_ the fact that you’re injured, I doubt that would be you.”

“Wait,” Prompto can feel his chest soar at the prospect even though his mind says not to hope. “Are you… staying with me?”

“That’s what it seems like.” Ignis sends him a smirk and Prompto can’t stop a grin from forming on his face in turn. “Seems you’re rather eager to die, and the people around you seem rather eager to kill you. If you’re not going to stop this nonsense, then you should at least have someone who’d prefer you alive.”

“Look at you,” Prompto laughs. “Admitting you’d prefer me alive. What a sap you’ve become!”

“Sticky, sweet and all.”

They share a look and a laugh and settle in a much friendlier silence. Prompto still isn’t sure where he is, only knows that it’s just past dawn in some little run down shack, but this is the closest he’s felt to being at home in a long while.

He almost doesn’t want to disrupt the moment, but something about this place, about Ignis, makes him feel braver as well.

“Ignis, I need you to know,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I’m really not going to stop.”

Ignis stiffens, but seems defeated when he says, “I’m aware.”

“And you’ll stay?” He’d hate how much like a child he sounds, but he could care less with how desperately he doesn’t want to be alone anymore.

The hope that he feels at the prospect is enough that it overpowers the guilt, the feeling that he doesn’t deserve this. That he doesn’t deserve Ignis with him. The guilt lingers, to be sure, but he finds that it’s easier to ignore, easier to be selfish with the way Ignis smirks at him.

“I already told you,” he says, that smile on his lips. “Someone needs to make sure you’re alive at the end of the day.”

In spite of everything, Prompto laughs. “ _That_ is true. It’d be nice if someone would make sure I had a beer at the end of the day, though, but I know that’s pushing it.”

“At the end of the day? _Please,_ give me some credit,” Ignis grins, something bright and wicked from when they were boys testing out Ignis’ magic on the older Speakers with pranks. He gets up and produces a small barrel from a corner of the room, rolling it irreverently across the floor with a foot. “How about right now?”

Prompto laughs again, breathless and thoroughly surprised. “Where did you-?”

“Took it from that barkeep. Thought that since they’d almost killed you they might as well contribute to your treatment. Alcohol is an _excellent_ anaesthetic, you know.”

“Oh heavens, Ignis.” Prompto grins as Ignis moves to open the thing. “Just marry me and be done with it.”

“Tell it to me when you’re sober, dear Prompto,” Ignis says with a smirk. “And I just might consider it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is that _(:3」∠)_ foreshadowing 
> 
> also, in case it was hard to tell from context bc i'm always paranoid about that 
> 
> a brief informational:  
> \- Speakers are a clan of people who study magic and prophecies and share these all through oral storytelling! they travel a lot which puts them at odds with people and are often mistaken for witches  
> \- vaguely 15th century setting don't get the plague boys  
> \- all titles including the main title are taken from dry the river's song 'bible belt' bc it was recc'd to me in early development of this fic and i'm loyal when it comes to concept starters
> 
> give me a little yell on [my tumblr](http://brosura.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/bigkatsanctuary)


	2. somewhere inside the fire of your youth went dark

Ignis treads purposefully between drunk and sober by the time the sun is high in the sky.

Ordinarily he’d find it rather irresponsible, drinking like this so early in the day. But the night offers little opportunity for respite these days, what with the _demons_ , and it’s been so rare for him to be in good company ever since he’d parted with the rest of the Speakers a year ago now.

And _gods,_ is it good company. He didn’t realize how much he’d been aching for it until that first moment when Prompto had looked at him with bright recognition and smiled that familiar warm thing.

When the darkness had come a year ago, violent and all at once, it had brought many things with it. Ardyn’s demons and the horrors that came with them, certainly, but it woke things in the hearts of men as well. Violent, cruel things. Things that festered in the dark.

He can’t claim to be any different. For all his training as a healer and a Speaker, he knows the rage that boils inside of him, the hatred that woke up in the dark. But along with that came a kind of clarity, an understanding.

Ever since Prompto left in the middle of the night three years ago, he’d been a storm of emotions. Confusion, betrayal, regret, a pervasive fear that he’d never see Prompto again and that their parting words would be Ignis telling him to die. And underneath this all was a sense of loyalty, a dedication to learning the Speaker’s way. Not quietly, of course. Ignis was never one to accept things as they were, but he’d still wanted, so deeply, to understand in his own way the thing that drove Prompto, again and again, to nearly kill himself helping people who never gave a damn about him. He thought the answers to that would be with the Speakers, with their prophecies and magic, their efforts to safeguard the future.

When the darkness had come, when it had taken his old mentor, that storm settled. The threads of his loyalty to his mission as a Speaker burned up and snapped, his compassion dried up. The only thing that remained in him was the fear of losing something he loved again. And without any trust left in the cold, cruel thing the world had become, his sole purpose turned to protecting those things he held dear.

The Speaker clan he’d grown up in had disbanded shortly after Old Nan had been killed. It was a combination of fear and doubt that drove them to find other caravans, but either way, he’d found his new purpose lost on them.

So when he’d heard a Speaker clan talk of a ‘heretic’ of the church fighting for the people, chasing off the demons, he’d remembered Prompto, remembered the fear and the regret, and started travelling.

It had taken months, travelling between caravans of Speakers, feeling like he’d just missed him every place he went.

It’s strange to be here with him now, to have seen him alive and well after the incident at the bar. An incident Ignis had… handled poorly. And bloodily.

Either way, everyone had at least a piece of them that survived the incident, singed though it may have been from the fire he set to the bar. But it had been a tense few moments when he’d gone over Prompto’s unconscious form with shaking hands to find with relief that aside from a dislocated arm and a lot of bruising, he was otherwise unharmed. That he was alive.

He is alive and he is _here,_ taller and broader than he was when he’d collapsed half-starved with a raging fever in their camp three years ago, but still the same wiry frame that only reaches just to Ignis’ eyes. The same shock of blond hair, the dusting of freckles across the nose.

He smiles the same way at Ignis, all warmth and joy that Ignis is sure he doesn’t deserve but finds he cherishes selfishly anyway.

And as they get drunker Ignis finds himself smiling back with a warmth that settles deep in him, chases out the loneliness and bitterness for just a moment.

But it is only a moment, a long one perhaps, but a moment nonetheless.

Ignis can feel the shift in Prompto’s behavior as the light changes, the tenseness in his frame, the precision of his movements despite the fact that he’s still flushed and bleary-eyed from the liquor. It’s the look of an animal hunted.

“Hate be the fucker to ruin the party,” Prompto says, but he takes a long swig of his beer anyway. “But unless you want to stick around to watch the bloodbath, we should probably move along. Demons were about a day’s travel out when I’d come through last night, don’t want to find out if they’re ahead of schedule.”

“What happened to ‘I can’t turn away if there’s a single innocent person suffering?’”

“I _can’t,”_ Prompto insists with a tired smile. “But with the year I’ve had, well, pick your battles and all that.” He sighs and moves to fiddle with a lock of blond hair. “Taught a priest and some young folk who’d listened how to build defenses before, well, before the bar. Salted a few swords, taught the strong to fortify houses. I did my part and now, if they live or die? That’s their call. Have to keep moving, have to stay ahead of the horde. There are villages that are helpless, still.”

Ignis snorts. It’s not quite a scoff, he’s not begrudging Prompto for being practical. If anything, it’s relief. “Glad to see you’re not such a martyr after all.”

“Well,” Prompto give him a sheepish grin. “I know it’s hard to tell with the way you found me, but I’m not so keen on dying as you think. There’s far too much beer out there to try!”

“Come then,” Ignis huffs a laugh, still toeing that line between drunk and sober. He reaches over and pulls Prompto’s mug from his hands. The confused and affronted furrow of Prompto’s brow coaxes out another laugh. “On to the next town and the next tavern.”

“Now that’s a thing I like to hear,” Prompto cheers, heaving himself up with a mild groan.

Ignis can’t imagine he must have healed much in the past few hours, but Prompto only lets out a pained little hiss as he stretches his dislocated arm, wiggling his fingers in front of his face as if to check the function. He seems pleasantly surprised with his condition, which is alarming to consider.

The alcohol has likely dulled the pain, but Ignis can’t imagine what Prompto could have endured that he seems pleased with the injuries he’s nursing now. He remembers the scars riddled across Prompto’s chest when he’d checked for broken ribs and feels his fists clenching before he can help himself. Ignis wouldn’t be surprised if Prompto’s enthusiasm for alcohol was purely to dull the pain from the injuries he sustains on what seems to be a regular basis.

“Ah,” Prompto says, seeming to finally note that he’s wearing only his undershirt and trousers. “My effects?”

“Over there,” Ignis gestures to the stack, not fully trusting himself to speak yet.

He moves to his own effects, a sloppier pile that he’d discarded in his urgency to get to Prompto’s wounds, and goes about the motions of arming himself for travel. He pulls on his boots first, securing the little clasps for each of the small knives that he hid inside them. Then he straps another set of knives to his thighs, strapping them in place with a buckle connected to his thighs. Finally, his bracers.

Prompto whistles as Ignis cinches them on, meandering over with his coat only half on to take a look.

 _“That’s_ new,” he laughs, poking a finger at the knife on Ignis’ wrist. “Didn’t know speakers were awful fond of knives. Seems a bit violent, don’t you think?”

“Had to find a way to defend myself,” Ignis explains. “Rather rough in these parts, you know.”

“Thought that’s why you’d trained in magic,” Prompto mumbles, still poking about Ignis’ knives with a drunken curiosity. He squats to look at the ones Ignis has hiding in his boots.

“Yes, well,” Ignis huffs. He’s not sure if it’s the alcohol or embarrassment, but he feels himself flushing under Prompto’s scrutiny. “I’d prefer not to be burnt at the stake for committing the sin of _leaving witnesses_ while defending myself from common thieves.”

“Alright with committing the sin of taking a finger instead?” Prompto smirks.

“If you aren’t prepared to lose a finger, then you ought not to enter a fight.”

Prompto whistles again. “Never crossing you. Need my fingers!”

“Ah, that’s right,” Ignis says. “You’re the type of fool to arm himself with a crossbow.”

“A crossbow _and_ a whip,” Prompto pouts. He crouches down to reveal two concealed daggers in his own boots. “And these.”

Ignis crouches down as Prompto straightens to pull on his coat the rest of the way. He slips one of the daggers from Prompto’s boot, running a finger along the blade, then gives Prompto a dubious look. “Clean, but dull. Almost as if they’re _never used.”_

“Said I had ‘em,” Prompto says, shrugging, and finishes up the remaining buttons on his coat. “Not that I was any good at using ‘em.”

Ignis returns the knife and stands at his full height, which puts him a bit higher than Prompto, who sends a bashful smile up at him. It’s all Ignis can focus on for a moment. Despite the hope that had driven him in Prompto’s direction for nearly an entire year, some part of him had been expecting to find a corpse, or to find a man so different - so changed by the world in the ways that Ignis had been changed, so darkened - that he was unrecognizable.

And yet here is Prompto. Drunker, but the same. The same trust in his eyes, the same brightness in his countenance, the same smile that said his faith rested in Ignis completely. He doesn’t deserve it.

But then Ignis looks down and notices the rest of him.

 _“That’s_ new,” Ignis says, poking a finger at Prompto’s chest where his heart beats. There, for all to see, is the crest of House Argentum. An ornate phoenix overlaid on a shield, wings spread beyond its borders. “No wonder you’re always in such trouble, boasting like this. Might as well scrawl _heretic_ over your heart instead, it paints you as a target just the same.”

In response to this, Prompto _grins,_ spinning around to show him a similar symbol emblazoned on the leather of the back of his coat, wings stretching nearly from shoulder to shoulder. “Dangerous, right? Let’s ‘em know the weaknesses. Makes fights _interesting.”_

Ignis sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And here I was, thinking there was even a drop of reason in the sea of your stupidity.”

“Hey!”

“No matter,” Ignis interrupts, shrugging off the cloak he’d already secured around his shoulders and draping it around Prompto’s. “This should at least stop prying eyes.”

“Oh!” Prompto watches as Ignis’ fingers work at the tie with a surprised recognition. “Speaker’s robes, huh?”  

“Why do you sound surprised?”

“Nothing,” Prompto says, but there’s something like relief in his smile. “Nothing, I just, well, I figured you’d have gotten rid of them by now.”

“Well, the way of life has it’s merits sometimes,” Ignis admits. “And I imagine Old Nan might come back and burn me herself if she’d found out I’d discarded my training.”

“Probably,” Prompto grins, pushing back the cloak to expose the gold symbol on his chest. “But don’t you worry! You’re with an Argentum now! Banishing the undead is part of the family legacy.”

Ignis huffs, swatting his hands away. “Besides _that,_ there are still some places out there that look fondly on Speakers. I imagine they’re far more abundant than places that look fondly on _Argentums.”_

“Alright, I get it, you _nag,”_ Prompto laughs. “You know, it’s not as if I was protesting. It was getting cold, and some bandit stole the only cloak I had. Well, even without the fur, this is better...”

Prompto’s smile turns into something soft as he trails off, thumbs running under the loose fabric of the cloak’s hood to bunch it up about his neck.

Speaker’s robes, by design, were supposed to maintain some air of distance, of humility. Ignis had always found that the blue color of them tended to wash out the wearer in turn, to make their appearance colder, duller. For some reason, he doesn’t see the same in Prompto. His hair looks the color of the warm gold of the symbol on his chest next to the blue of the hood, the freckles stand out starker against his skin. Perhaps it’s because his eyes match the color, but that can’t be right. They’re a darker blue. Not by much, but obvious now that he can make the comparison.

“Er, Ignis,” Prompto says, and Ignis remembers where they are and what they are doing. “You alright?”

“Ah, yes?” he manages, blinking a few times to lose the focus he’d had on Prompto’s eyes.

He’s drunk, that’s all it is. That’s why he’s warm and flustered. He’s drunk.

“I asked if you’d be cold,” Prompto laughs. “Y’know, without your robes?”

“It isn’t as if I’m completely _disrobed,”_ Ignis retorts. “I’ve still got my coat. And unlike yours, it’s actually for more than just show.”

“My coat’s plenty warm!” Prompto pouts, but the way he pulls the cloak closer makes Ignis doubt that. “It’s just,  y’know, _older.”_

 _“Don’t_ tell me you stole it off a corpse.”

Prompto shrugs. “It fits?”

* * *

It’s not the best of situations they’ve put themselves in.

The sun is setting quickly and the nights are getting colder as the winter approaches. But they’re warm and confident from the drink, and Ignis knows from experience that they’re safer on their own than in a town full of people.

Demons kill for pleasure, not out of need. Numbers _matter_ to them.

Even so, Ignis can sense the change in Prompto as they continue making their way steadily to the next village.

It’s the same as in the shack, the look of an animal hunted. He keeps up his chatter well enough, but Ignis can almost feel the tension that breaks when the roofs of a village break the horizon just as the sun starts to slip behind it.

“What a relief!” Prompto says around a shuddering laugh. “And here I thought I was going to have to let you see me at my worst.”

“It can get worse than this?” Ignis laughs.

“Trust me,” Prompto gives him something like a grimace. “People look much worse drunk and huddled up at the base of some tree. It’s a certain kind of low.”

“Well, now you can huddle up drunk at some tavern.”

Prompto beams at him. “Exactly! You drinking, Ignatius?”

“Only if you try to call me ‘Ignatius’ again.” Ignis sends him a half-hearted glare.

“Oh come now, Ignatius.” Prompto raises an eyebrow. “It’s a lovely name.”

“It seems I am to take to the bottle.”

“Good!” Prompto slaps him on the back. “When it comes to drinking, the more the merrier, my dear Ignatius!”

Ignis snorts. “How much of your family’s inheritance have you spent on beer?”

 _“Far_ too much.”

“You know,” Ignis starts around a breath that’s half a sigh, half a laugh. “You could stop squandering it if you could only wait. I’ve been learning to brew on my own with Speaker magic. It’s a useful skill when you like the drink but prefer to avoid the company.”

At this, Prompto breaks out into laughter. “You learned to make booze to avoid drinking with people? Gods, Ignis, you never change!”

“And neither do you,” he shoots back. “So I imagine after all these years you haven’t magically become patient and well-mannered, and the process does take some time.”

“Well, I’d love to try it,” Prompto says with a grin.

“Well, perhaps someday you shall.”

Prompto clicks his tongue, shaking his head, that easy grin still across his face. Ignis finds himself smiling in return. “You really like to leave a man wondering, don't you?”

“We both know if I told you _when_ I'd planned on brewing, you'd stick around to nag me until I was finished.”

“Well, you just have me all figured out, don’t you?”

Ignis gives him a smirk. “From the beginning.”

“Well,” Prompto says with a sly grin of his own. “I think you’ll find I might surprise you.”

And Ignis is honest when he says, “I’m looking forward to it.”

Then Prompto grins at him again, and for a moment Ignis forgets the events of the last year, forgets the unhappy circumstances that brought him and Prompto together again.

But then Prompto’s face falls only a moment later and he has to remember.

* * *

_“You have a year. Make peace with yourselves or become stronger, it matters little to me. Only know that when I return, Hell will come with me.”_

* * *

The village is torn apart, in all senses.

The roofs that had been a welcome sight only a moment ago reveal houses with broken windows and collapsed walls, dilapidated buildings smeared with the fly-ridden remnants of their former inhabitants.

The villagers were torn apart as well, it seems.

They stand at the threshold of it, the lightness of the moment before gone. Instead the heaviness of the situation locks them in place.

It’s not so shocking to Ignis. Violence was something he’d become accustomed to over the past year, but it’s not as if he’s happy to see so many dead. And it’s a sharp contrast to the moment before, the lightness and joy of being in Prompto’s company.

Prompto, who is now gaping at the sight, shock and grief etched into his frozen expression.

“Prompto…” Ignis starts. He’s not sure how to be a comfort, he’s never had to be in this position, but he will try.

But Prompto only blinks at the sound of his name, shaking his head. As if suddenly freed from the shock of the situation, Prompto jogs up to the closest person, a man leaning against a wall that seems mostly intact - something that can’t be said for the young couple they’d passed clutching at each other in the square - and Ignis follows.

“Sir,” Prompto tries, shaking his shoulder but Ignis can see the way his expression sinks when the man tips at the contact, revealing the gaping wound on his back.

“No,” Prompto breathes, barely a whisper. He gets up and speeds off before Ignis can stop him.

“Prompto!” Ignis takes off after him.

“Is anyone there?!” Ignis can hear him yell, desperation and panic evident in his voice. “Answer me! Is anyone there?!”

“Prompto!” Ignis yells in return. “Prompto, it’s almost dark, you can’t-!”

He cuts himself off when he nearly bumps into Prompto, who’s stopped abruptly in the path.

The village square, though filled with people, was completely devoid of life.

It's a common sight these days, common enough that Ignis can't find it in him to even flinch at the corpses strewn haphazardly about the places, not more than a day old judging by the way some of them still oozed, the way the rot hadn't set in.

Ignis doesn't think twice about the dark red stains running through the earth at his feet.

Prompto, though. Prompto does.

 _“No,”_ he says, the word almost lost in a shuddering sigh, and collapses to his knees in the blood soaked dirt. “No, no- This can’t- I couldn’t- I had _time._ The horde was _behind_ me. I don’t-”

“It’s possible there’s more than one horde by now,” Ignis interrupts as gently as he can. “It’s been a year. The demons have likely grown in number by now, taken different paths. You couldn’t have known.”

 _“Couldn’t have known,”_ Prompto repeats with a bitter, defeated laugh. It sounds awful and wrong and Ignis doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to see this anymore.

“I doubt the demons are nearby, but we ought to find shelter,” Ignis says, perhaps too quickly. He can’t bear the silence. But he tries to comfort himself with the fact that the sun is setting and they’ll be in danger if they don’t move. “On the bright side, there’s an abundance of...unoccupied homes. I’ll, ah, I’ll come get you once I find one.”

“No,” Prompto says, quiet and cracked. “No, I’ll come with you. Nothing I can do at this point, and we should stick together.”

Ignis is relieved by that, somewhat. A part of him had screamed in protest when he himself had suggested they separate, the part of him that didn’t want to look away from Prompto, the part that was still afraid that this was a dream.

But it’s a momentary, empty relief.

They move together in a tired quiet until they find a house that’s mostly intact and with minimal carnage. The inhabitants must have run at the sound of their neighbors being ripped apart, because there’s only the smear of blood across the doorway and nothing else.

They prepare a fire in solemn silence and Ignis notes at Prompto’s efficiency, the steadiness of his hands as he works at the fire. The distant look he gets, eyes unfocused and brows furrowed in the flicker of the light. The way he hunches over the fire, curled in on himself in a way that Ignis can tell is not only for the sake of keeping out the cold.

He wonders how many nights Prompto has had to do this alone.

But he can’t bring himself to ask that - whether because he doesn’t want to hurt Prompto or he’s afraid of the answer, he doesn’t know - so instead he asks, “You seem familiar, do you come here often?”

Prompto blinks at him for a moment, but the question startles something like laughter out of him, breathy and uncertain. “Can’t say I do, stranger.”

“Well, we ought not to stay strangers for long. I can’t imagine any company in the near future.”

He tries to say it in jest, but he can see the way Prompto’s face falls, he loathes the way Prompto’s smile seems forced as he breathes, “Ah, right.”

“Come now,” Ignis says. “Enough of that. There’s nothing you can do now.”

“I _know_ that,” Prompto hisses, curling up tighter, knees coming to his chest. He looks angry, but Ignis doesn’t think that it’s directed to him. “I _know._ It’s just- I only wanted- If I could have-” he cuts himself off with a frustrated huff of air, burying his face between his knees. “It’s just _shit._ Everything’s shit.”

“You can say that again,” Ignis says.

The silence that follows is somehow louder than the soft crackle of the fire.

But Prompto is breathing, and he’s moving towards breathing evenly as Ignis watches him, hanging on every rise and fall of his chest. It takes some time, but Prompto relaxes. It’s a gradual, tired thing, the way he unwraps himself just slightly to rest a cheek on his knee.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been too late,” Prompto finally admits, voice soft and tired. “But every time I think, maybe, it’ll be the last. I’m just- I’m tired of being too late.”

“You must know it isn’t your fault, it’s never your fault,” Ignis says, and he must sound desperate but he truly is. He’s been desperate from the beginning to keep Prompto away from this, desperate now to stop him from hating himself.

But Prompto still has that look on his face as he says, “I know. I only-”

Then suddenly everything changes. He rolls to his feet, a different kind of tenseness running under his skin in the silence that follows.

“Prom-”

“Hold that thought,” Prompto hisses.

In a flurry of movement, he kicks dirt onto the fire, stifling it into a low burning thing only a few glowing embers strong. He tugs Ignis close and behind him and Ignis remembers Old Nan and the children. In the moments before the light dies, Ignis sees him draw his crossbow.

Ignis startles to action at the sight of it, heart starting to race. He hadn't heard anything, wasn't sure what set Prompto on edge, but he’d spent his last year fending off bandits while travelling between Speaker clans.

Prompto spent that time fighting demons.

Ignis draws his knife the best he can in the dark, though he imagines it wouldn't do much good if it really _was_ a demon that Prompto had heard. Either way, he refuses to go down without a fight.

He calms his breathing down and tries to focus on his hands, tries to call his magic there the way he was taught to. He feels them warm in cold of the night, focuses on holding onto that warmth as he follows the dim shape of Prompto towards the back door.

In the light of the moon, he can only see the whites of Prompto’s eyes as he gestures for Ignis to crouch low with his hands.

But in the light of the moon, he sees something else. Prompto sees it too, if the way he tenses towards the figure crouching in the brush near the house like a dog pointing towards its prey is any indication.

He holds his crossbow up to eyeline, and Ignis doesn’t doubt this will be over soon.

But he seems to hesitate to fire.

Ignis, perhaps too weighted down in the emotion of the evening, remembers Prompto tense and curled up by the fire and pushes past him. His knives may not be enough to kill the demon, but his fire will have to be. He will end this.

He’s just shoved his hand out at the shadow, fire lighting up his palm, when he hears Prompto shout, “Ignis, wait!”

He stops his killing blow just in time because standing there, in the flickering light of his Speaker’s magic, is _not_ a demon.

It’s a little boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompto, with a poster that says 'demon' below a post it note: there's only one thing worse than a demon -pulls away post-it note to reveal 'child' written above it-  
> ignis, facing the camera: a child  
> prompto: NO-
> 
> give me a little yell on [my tumblr](http://brosura.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/bigkatsanctuary)


	3. you take the cards that you're dealt

“You’re alright now,” Prompto reassures the shivering little boy that he and Ignis have since shuffled back into the house they’ve set up camp in. “You’re safe.”

The boy’s eyes are white and wide in the dark, jumping between Prompto and Ignis, who’s rekindling the fire with the little flames that still flicker on his palm. Ignis has the decency to look bashful when the boy jumps at the sight of his magic, clinging closer to Prompto.

“Hey, he’s ok,” Prompto reassures. “He’s not going to hurt you.”

The boy still flicks his eyes to Ignis, but gives Prompto a shaky little nod.

Ignis extinguishes the flame on his palm and presents it to the boy in an awkward offering of peace, “There, it’s gone now.”

“A-are you a witch?” the boy stutters out, fingers stiffening in Prompto’s robes.

Despite the fear in the boy’s tone, Prompto can’t help but to laugh at the question as Ignis’ brow twitches in annoyance. He rubs a reassuring hand on the boy’s back when he jumps at the sound.

“I may not be a witch, but little boys would do well not to cross me, regardless,” Ignis huffs, in a way that Prompto can tell is more in annoyance than out of any real malice.

The boy flinches, though, so Prompto squats down next to him to say, “Oh, don’t mind him. You know anything about Speakers, er-”

“T-Talcott, sir,” the boy stutters. “And I _have_ heard of Speakers, sir.”

“Well,” Ignis says with a smirk. “What have you heard?”

“Th-that they’re heretics,” Talcott says after some time. He looks away from Ignis, moving closer to Prompto seemingly on instinct. “That they brought the darkness upon us in Lestallum.”

“And I imagine that it was _the church_ that told you that,” Ignis spits, and before Prompto can even move past the surprise at the bitterness in his tone to scold him, he sighs and continues with a gentler, “I can’t blame your caretakers their ignorance, but don’t believe everything you’re told, boy. Now, where is your family?”

The boy squints, face scrunching in a way Prompto recognizes. He’s trying to hide his tears. “My grandpa, he- He’s- The demons, they-”

“Hush now,” Ignis cuts in, even gentler than before. “I think we have the idea, you’ve done very well to survive this far. Can he be buried?”

The boy eyes slam shut, tears spilling around the edges, and he shakes his head.

“Very well,” Ignis sighs. “I know you think me a heretic, but Speakers have a prayer for the dead. I will say it to guide his spirit to peace, if you wish.”

Talcott seems surprised by the offer, if the way he blinks at Ignis is any indication.

And if he’s honest, Prompto is surprised by the offer as well. Ignis had never believed in the prayers, even before all this. He’d always said they were empty words to console the living with no power or weight behind them, though he’d only admitted to this much later in life, likely for Prompto’s benefit. The whole Speaker clan had said prayers for his family after they were eradicated overnight.

Either way, in the end Talcott chooses to consult Prompto instead, turning to him with a light but insistent tug on his cloak.

“You can say no,” Prompto reassures with the brightest smile he can muster. It’s admittedly hard to look at the boy, knowing he’s an orphan because Prompto had failed him. “But to me, Ignis is a friend. He may not seem it, but he’s kind. And his people guided my own family to rest, many years ago. I trust him.”

“You are speaking to an Argentum,” Ignis deadpans. “I imagine your church would say trusting _him_ is ill-advised, as well.”

“You’re an Argentum?” the boy says, eyes widening. But it’s curiosity that sparkles in the whites of his eyes, not fear, interestingly enough. “Is it true that you sold your soul to fight the demons?”

“I-” he starts, clustering, but Ignis cuts him off with a huff.

“Would you like the prayer or not, boy?”

Talcott frowns, and it’s easy to read the way he seems to weigh his options on the unguarded openness of his child’s face.

“I would,” he finally answers. He straightens before bending himself into a bow. “Thank you, Sir Ignis.”

“Enough of the flattery,” Ignis snorts. He gestures for the boy to take his hand. “Come here and I’ll begin.”

Talcott looks to Prompto again for reassurance, but when Prompto gives him a small nod and a little shove he stumbles over easily enough and before long, Ignis is gently asking him to focus on his grandfather, to remember him the way he was.

Prompto doesn’t quite hear enough of the words Ignis prays to compare to the prayer he’d heard that day when he was in Talcott’s place, a little boy alone for the very first time. No, instead he finds himself drawn to the way Ignis says them. The softness of his voice, the gentleness of his expression. It’s a sharp contrast to the ways he’s used to seeing Ignis interact with his heritage as a Speaker, all sharp focus with a meticulous and critical eye. He wonders if Ignis has always had this in him, or if this is something impossible and light born from the last year of hardship.

Regardless, the boy seems soothed by the time they’re finished, and he retires to bed easily when Ignis sends him along with a stern, but still gentle, “Off to rest, now. You’re safe with us heretics, so regain your strength. Tomorrow is the day for talking.”

He’s likely been left to his own devices since the horrors that befell the village, so Prompto isn’t surprised that by the time they’ve lead him to the only bed in the house, he’s collapsed and snoring on top of it. He remembers it himself, the overwhelming relief of feeling safe and warm after narrowly avoiding death. It’s better than alcohol for a steady sleep.

“I’ll see if there’s food I can make,” Ignis says quietly as Talcott snores on. “I imagine all of us could use it in the morning.”

Prompto just hums. It’s still painful to see Talcott like this, small and alone and helpless. But he tries not to think about this. _Tomorrow is the day for talking,_ Ignis had said. Tomorrow they’ll sort this out. He won’t let Talcott be alone in this.

But for now, he asks, quiet so they don’t wake Talcott, “Since when have you said the Speaker’s prayers?”

“Since a little boy was mourning his brutally murdered grandfather,” Ignis huffs. His eyes flick to Prompto, impatience etched in his brow. “Don’t dwell too much on it.”

“Who could have known you had a soft spot for little orphaned boys who just lost their families?” Prompto still teases. He relishes Ignis’ conceding half-smile at him before continuing with the thought that had been on his mind since Talcott had mentioned the Speakers. “What Talcott said. You were there, weren’t you? You were in Lestallum when the darkness fell.”

Ignis turns to meet his eyes for a long moment, something inscrutable behind his expression, then he sighs. “Not exactly. It’s a small mercy, but we were all spared a front seat for the carnage of the Scourge, at least.”

“‘Not exactly,’” Prompto repeats. “You know what happened, don’t you?”

Ignis’ silence is heavier this time before he answers, “I do.”

“So…?”

 _“So,”_ Ignis says, crossing his arms over his chest. His fists clench where they’re folded. “So I have even _more_ reason to distrust the church.”

Prompto sighs, remembering flames. “I had a feeling it had something to do with the bishop there. I recognized him.”

Ignis’ fists clench and unclench and he frowns as he says, “It seems murdering an entire family for the sin of saving people in a sense more literal than the church is capable of was not enough for him. No, he _had_ to accuse a famous healer in Lestallum of witchcraft and kill one of his patients as an example. To the misfortune of us all, that healer turned out to be a _fucking_ immortal vampire.”

“Ardyn,” Prompto breathes.

Ignis frowns at him. “How did you-?”

“The Speakers aren’t the only ones with stories,” Prompto cuts in with a tired smile. “The book my mother gave me, it said a lot of things. But it talked about Ardyn a _lot_. He’s- It’s-” he draws in a shuddering breath. “It’s my duty to kill him, to end this.”

“And I imagine that includes the caveat that you might die trying,” his tone is dry and scathing when he says it.

“Well, it’s me or everyone else,” Prompto tries with a laugh.

Ignis doesn’t seem amused though, he just gives Prompto that long, inscrutable look again, but this time there’s something like frustration running underneath, down to the clench of his knuckles against his folded up arms.

“I suppose there’s no stopping you,” he finally says, but he doesn’t sound like he means it.

“If it helps,” Prompto says with a shaky smile. “I’ll do my best not to die trying.”

Ignis does laugh at that, quiet and breathy, and he’s relieved at the sound. They fall into a companionable silence as the night lingers on. It’s quiet, but the peaceful kind. He can’t hear the telltale noises of demons, and for all their power and mystery they’re blessedly unsubtle. So there’s only the gentle buzzing that he can imagine to be nothing but night insects if he tries to forget the things he saw in the light of the day.

“I’ve meant every prayer I’ve given,” Ignis says into the silence after a long moment. “The one for the boy…”

He trails off, but Prompto understands the _‘and the one for you’_ that goes unspoken.

So he only says, “I know.”

* * *

 Talcott is a different person after a night’s rest. Rather than stay the jittery, nervous thing he was, he’s buzzing with excitement today as he asks, around a mouthful of the stew Ignis had managed to whip up overnight, “Is it true that you fight with a demon’s weapon?”

“Er, not really,” Prompto answers, feeling awkward and underwhelming in the face of Talcott’s enthusiasm. He awkwardly produces his crossbow, laying it gently on the table. “You can look at it, if you’d like. But see? Just a crossbow. Nothing very demonic, I think.”

Talcott seems to have a different thought on that, though, as his eyes widen in shock at the sight of it. There’s an awe in his slack-jawed expression as he hovers his small hands over the weapon. “I’ve never seen anything _like_ it, sir!”

“Sir’s too much,” Prompto laughs, nervous. “Call me Prompto, Talcott.”

Talcott frowns. “But you’re an Argentum, aren’t you? My grandpa said we ought to speak proper to nobles like you! Er, sir!”

Prompto winces. “Not much of a noble anymore. I’m sure you’ve heard that we’re heretics now.”

Talcott frowns again, and he looks very resolute when he says, “That’s what some people said. Grandpa said different, though. He said we ought to have been kinder to you Argentums, that you protected us from things...from things in the dark.” Talcott looks to his stew, but it’s clear he’s lost his appetite with the way he drops his spoon.

“Hey,” Prompto says. “I’m an Argentum, aren’t I? With my, er, _demon’s_ weapon. I’m a little late, but I’m here. And you’ll be safe as long as I’m with you.”

Talcott’s returning smile is wobbly, but he gives Prompto a steady nod in response.

“Do you know if you have family in other villages, Talcott?” Ignis says. He was always the one with a clearer head between the two of them. He sighs when Talcott shakes his head. “An orphanage will have to do, then.”

“Do you know if there’s a place that’s still safe nearby, Talcott?” Prompto tries.

Talcott seems to think before answering. “There’s Insomnia.”

“The walled city?” Prompto wonders aloud, something awakening within him at the name. He hadn’t expected to have made it this far. Insomnia was a legend in the towns he passed through, a city with defenses that might survive the demons. It had only been a dream then, but to know that it’s something real and nearby, an achievable goal and not a fantasy in the distance. Well, it’s something worth hoping for. “It’s close?”

Talcott nods.

But before he can say anything, Ignis interjects with a firm, “We’re _not_ going to Insomnia.”

 _“That_ was quick,” Prompto snorts. “And why aren’t we going to Insomnia? If it’s the closest city-”

“My concern _is_ that it’s a city.” Ignis folds his arms and Prompto tenses in response. “Cities are full of people, full of crowds. In my experience, crowds have been more eager to _burn_ strangers than help them.”

“Er,” Prompto blinks at Talcott, who probably should have been spared that particular comment.

Ignis sighs, and his tone is gentler when he says, “Talcott, why don’t you step out for a minute.”

It’s phrased as a question but it’s still an order through and through. And while Talcott seems hesitant, glancing between the two of them, he concedes easily enough.

Talcott’s scarcely made it past the door when Ignis rounds on Prompto with an adamant, “We are _not_ going to Insomnia.”

“Look, I know after Lestallum,” Prompto flinches at the way Ignis’ expression sours. “I know you’re not eager to throw yourself into a crowd. But it’s only for a moment. We can’t leave Talcott here, and he can’t travel with us. We need to take him somewhere safe.”

“And you think a city is safe?” Ignis challenges. “Demons are attracted to numbers and negative emotions, both of which a city has in _spades._ There’s danger in numbers.”

“But there’s a safety in numbers, too,” Prompto insists, folding his arms, but he’s nervous about his decision, suddenly. He’s familiar with this place, he has a history of losing arguments with Ignis. “The more people there are, the better your chances. And Insomnia is a walled city, it already has defenses and-”

“And _what?”_ Ignis interrupts, rounding on Prompto and suddenly so _angry_ that he flinches at the sight of it. _“You’ll_ teach them how to fight the horde? And you truly think they’ll listen to you? They’d sooner finish the job the bishop started.”

“This isn’t _about_ me, Ignis,” he says, perhaps sharper than he intended. “It’s about doing the right thing.”

Ignis’ hands clench at that, but he only looks tired as he sighs and leans forward onto the table. “You’re not talking about Talcott anymore, are you?”

“I am,” he says, meeting Ignis’ eyes as he does so. It’s not a complete lie, but it’s not the truth either. “His best chances are in the walled city, even you can’t deny that.”

“And even _you_ can’t deny that travelling with a Speaker and an Argentum isn’t the best way to drum up the good graces of the people.” Ignis spits the last bit with venom. “If you think they would even hesitate to burn him on the pyre with us, you’re being naive.”

“Maybe.” Prompto swallows around the knot in his throat. “Maybe I am. But even if it’s only for Talcott, I have to believe in them. I have to _try,_ Ignis.”

Ignis’ frown deepens and his voice is quiet when he continues with, “You’ll kill yourself trying.”

“Maybe so-”

“And at a fool’s errand,” Ignis cuts him off, and Prompto can see the frustration in the way he blinks and shakes his head, the way he clenches and unclenches his fists before fixing a glare directly on Prompto. “I’ve seen what happens when cities turn against you, I’ve seen what happens when cities fall. It’s bloody and violent, and anything but safe.”

And Prompto can feel the weight in Ignis’ words, can piece it together well enough. It catches at the lump in his throat like a choking thing. Old Nan. Lestallum. Ignis has suffered this past year.

But Talcott is suffering right now. A lot of people are suffering.

And Ignis is suffering. More and more, Prompto thinks he’s the reason that Ignis is suffering. Ignis only wants him to survive, for god knows what reason. But he’s not sure he can give Ignis what he wants anymore.

He can’t keep acting like there isn’t some selfish part of him that wants to hope there’s something more than fire and rocks waiting for him in Insomnia. He can’t deny the pull in his gut from the moment he heard Talcott say ‘Insomnia.’ The way the little voice that has been promising him answers - promising Insomnia to be the one piece that has felt missing for as long as he can remember - has gotten louder and louder and overpowered the part of him that fears being alone.

“That may be the case,” he says, firm enough that he even surprises himself. “And it may be a fool’s errand, but I _am_ a fool. And you don’t need-” he sucks in a breath, steeling himself. “You don’t need to be my _keeper.”_

He almost hates himself for saying it with the way Ignis’ face scrunches up. “Are you asking me to leave?”

“I told you already: I’m not going to stop.” Prompto frowns. He finds his voice raising in spite of himself. “I told you. And right now I’m going to Insomnia. But you don’t have to leave, I don’t want you to leave. I just- you can’t keep _doing this_. You can’t keep doubting me and trying to protect me by keeping me from my duty-”

“So it _is_ about your Argentum nonsense,” Ignis spits.

“And what if it is?” Prompto folds his arms, venom crawling up his throat and coating each word. This is wrong, this is going all wrong. “Are you going to tell me to die in Insomnia, like you did three years ago when I came to you for help?”

“You’ll die in Insomnia regardless of what I say,” Ignis hisses. “But are _you_ going to run off and leave everything behind again?! When you’re still injured like this? I see the way you wince when you walk and you’re going to a place where the only promise is more pain, and for what? To- to chase _glory_ -”

“It’s not about glory, Ignis. It’s my duty-”

“And you’d put _duty_ above the only people in this world who _gave a damn_ about you? Over -” Ignis cuts himself off, blinking his eyes hard as he shakes his head. “You weren’t _there,_ Prompto! You have no idea what it’s like. You don’t know what it is to _watch-_ ”

“I _know!”_ he practically shouts. His heart is racing, eyes are watering at the prospect of hearing about all the people Ignis has lost. It’s stupid, it’s selfish, but he doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to know anymore right now. “I know it’s my fault what happened to Old Nan! I know I couldn’t do anything for the Speakers! I know I failed you. I couldn’t help anyone, but now I can! And is it so wrong of me to put the lives of hundreds, thousands of people over the lives of a few.”

He doesn’t regret saying it at first, doesn’t realize the impact of his words. He’d only meant himself, he’d only meant that his needs, his wants, his loneliness and his fear - they were all unimportant compared to his duty.

But he realizes only a moment later, as he watches the hurt stretch across Ignis’ face, how it could be taken.

“I see,” Ignis says, voice hoarse. “I see. Then, if I am one of _a few_ \- if I am truly so inconsequential to you, then it seems you have no need of me.”

“Ignis,” Prompto says, but it sounds like a plead with the way his voice breaks around it. “That’s not-”

“I’ll be on my way.”

And there’s no stopping him. He stands from the table stiffly.

 _“Ignis,”_ Prompto tries, but it’s too late.

Ignis is already at the door. Prompto’s already failed him again.

“Take care of Talcott,” Ignis pauses in the doorway to say, only a hint of the venom from before.

 _Stay,_ he should be saying. _I don’t want you to go._

“Your cloak,” is what he says instead, moving to shrug it off his shoulders.

“Keep it,” Ignis says, quick and sharp. Then he spares Prompto a look. It’s just a single look, but it’s heavy and sorrowful and Prompto can’t meet his eyes for long. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” Prompto manages.

He shuts the door behind him and Prompto is alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> talcott, outside with dead bodies: M-MR. ARGENTUM CAN I COME BACK INSIDE THERE ARE DEAD PEOPLE OUT HERE
> 
> give me a little yell on [my tumblr](http://brosura.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/bigkatsanctuary)


	4. there's no guiding light

“Is Master Ignis really going to be fine on his own?” Talcott asks from where he’s holding hands with Prompto.

It’s been a long two days of walking - Insomnia just finally within their sights - and while he’s tried to hide it, they’ve taken their toll on Talcott, who is still small and licking fresh wounds. Prompto has tried to keep his spirits up - playing games and teaching him things about the woods they’re travelling through, regaling him with stories of the Argentums and their exploits - but it’s been hard after everything. It’s hard after Ignis.

He thought he’d gotten used to travelling without a friend.

He thought he’d gotten used to being alone.

It’s colder than he remembers.

“He’ll be fine,” Prompto says, forcing his lips into a smirk. He must not be very convincing, because Talcott seems dubious as he continues with, “And don’t get too comfortable calling him ‘Master Ignis.’ There’s no telling what that’ll do to his ego, if you should ever see him again.”

Talcott worries at his lip for a moment before asking, “Will we see him again?”

“Well, I-” Prompto hesitates, gives Talcott another shaky grin. “I don’t know. Maybe you will, some day. I, ah, I doubt he wants to see me again.”

He says the last part without thinking, it slips from the place it was roiling and bubbling inside him - that ugly pit of guilt and grief in his stomach - before he has the chance to stop himself. But he doesn’t have time to mock himself for wallowing in pity so obviously in front of a little boy who had just lost everything, because Talcott’s brow furrows.

“That’s not true,” he insists, sounding adamant. “He was sad when he left, he didn’t want to leave.”

“He… was sad?”

Talcott nods. “He scrunched up his eyes all tight, but not like when he got mad at breakfast. Well, a little like that, but it was mostly like when grandpa-” Talcott trails off, expression souring into a pout. “He told you to go, but he didn’t want you to go. He wanted you to be safe.”

It’s not about Ignis and him anymore, but Prompto still sees something familiar in the way Talcott bites his lip - so hard that it’s white where he’s pressing down, that Prompto’s afraid he’ll break the skin. The way his shoulders hunch.

“And _you’ll_ be safe,” Prompto tries to reassure. “That’s why I’m taking you to the city. The best thing you can do for your grandpa now is to be safe.”

“But what about you?” Talcott frowns. “Master Ignis said that the city’s a bad place for an Argentum.”

“Didn’t anyone teach you about _eavesdropping?_ ” Prompto teases, swiping at the boy’s head. That manages to coax the smallest of smiles from his lips. “And don’t you worry about me, I’ll manage. But, ah, it would probably be for the best that you don’t mention me being an Argentum until, well, it might be best for you not to mention I'm an Argentum at all.”

It's the wrong thing to say though, because Talcott’s frown deepens and he purses his lips before saying, “I can get to Insomnia from here. Pa took me there before. You- You don't need to come with me anymore.”

“Nonsense! We’ve made it this far, haven’t we?” Prompto tries to joke, but Talcott’s still troubled, and the look of it is too old for his soft face. “Well, I don’t doubt that you can get along well enough without me, but you don’t need to! I made you a promise that you’d be safe with me, and I plan on keeping that promise.”

“But Master Ignis says _you’re_ not safe,” Talcott finally says, in more of a mumble than anything.

It’s just enough of a reminder of Ignis’ persistent nagging for irritation to scratch at his throat, for Prompto to say, “Well, don’t listen to everything _Master_ Ignis says.”

He feels silly after he says it, feels like a sulking child, but he can’t stop himself. Prompto winces at the way Talcott’s frown deepens in response.

It seems despite thinking Ignis a witch, Talcott has grown something of a respect for the man who’d nearly burned him alive. Prompto can’t blame him for that, Ignis has a noble look about him, a dignified bearing that screams of a righteousness, a goodness that Ignis will deny whenever he’s given the chance even as he’s saying prayers with sincerity over the family of a boy he’d just met. Prompto can understand that

“Listen, Talcott,” he says, gentler this time. “You don’t have to worry about me, I’m not as helpless as you think I am.”

“I don’t think,” Talcott starts, brows drawn with frustration. Prompto balks at the sight of tears starting to form at the corner of his eyes. “I just don’t- I don’t want you to- Because of me-” He swipes at his eyes. “You don’t need to come with me anymore.”

His voice is shaking as he finishes, but he says it with a finality Prompto recognizes. He knows the frustration, the grief, the ugly ball of guilt that sits low in your gut. The pain of watching other people die for you, suffer for you, unable to do anything. The constant fear of it happening again.

He prays that Talcott’s grandfather at least knows peace now.

“It’s scary, I know,” Prompto says, quietly. “When other people are in danger because of you, it’s scary. But I’m choosing this, I want to come with you. You don’t have to feel guilty because it’s what I want. And I know it’s hard, but you don’t have to be afraid of relying on other people. You don’t have to take everything on yourself.”

He flinches. It’s an awfully hypocritical thing of him to say, after the way he’d let Ignis go in the village. The way he’s done everything alone for three years because of his eagerness to become stronger, to protect people, to stop being a burden on the people who were risking everything by harboring him.

And Talcott seems to sense this, because he has that dubious pull in his brows even as he nods. He doesn’t seem to believe it, or at least, he doesn’t seem to believe that Prompto truly believes it himself.

Prompto doesn’t blame him for that, either.

* * *

 The city of Insomnia, much like the rest of the world, has gone to shit.

Prompto doesn’t even think that his opinion was much affected by the fact that they’d had to climb up a literal shit hole to get inside the walls, praying with every second that this wouldn’t be the morning he’d get to add ‘hit with shit’ to his list of embarrassing and awful things that had happened to him.

It’s still standing, ancient buildings reaching high to the sky and taller than anything Prompto had seen for a while. Talcott had done nothing but gape at them since they’d gotten here.

It’s still standing, but not much else.

The people here have defeat weighing down their limbs, dulling their eyes. Prompto can see why the minute they make it to the town square and he has to direct Talcott quickly away from a pile of rotting corpses in varying states of decomposition.

 _It isn’t as safe as they’d thought._ Prompto feels the weight of that realization in his gut, the anxiety creeping into every limb. _It isn’t as safe as they’d hoped._

There’s something else there, too, though. Something that stirs the guilt that Ignis had unsettled with his accusations of glory-seeking. Something else lighting up his nerves with a steady thrum of energy, keeping him alert despite his exhaustion after waking so early to make the most of the daylight. It’s _excitement._ Eagerness.

_There’s a lot to be done here._

He’s here for Talcott, though. First and foremost. He’s not so selfish as to forget that.

The only thing is, he hadn’t thought this far ahead. Honestly, he’d been hoping that the city was unaffected by the demon attacks, that he’d be able to just ask if there was an orphanage in town. But in this state, well.

There were going to be a lot of orphans and probably not enough orphanages.

He still tries. He asks a woman at a stand filled with dried meats about places for children without parents, even tries to act like he’d found Talcott here to keep him from being associated with an ‘outsider,’ but he only gets a cold response and immediately remembers the blue cloak about his shoulders.

_Even you can’t deny that travelling with a Speaker and an Argentum isn’t the best way to drum up the good graces of the people._

Prompto wishes Ignis was here to say that to him. Ignis would know what to do. Guilt and frustration curl anew in his gut at the woman’s terseness as she cuts them some meat in exchange for what Prompto’s sure is far too many coins. Ignis was right, but that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

Well, there isn’t any helping it now.

Ordinarily, Prompto wouldn’t bother with the townsfolk after such a hostile greeting. He’d usually find some young people on the fringes of the town - maybe outcasts, maybe ambitious men and women just too young to be taken seriously - and tell them what he knew, show them how to survive this world.

Ordinarily, he didn’t have an orphaned child with him.

So, he has to stay the course. He asks around a bit more, gets a bit more information about the state of the town. The demons, it seemed, were a recent development. Insomnia had held strong, but many suffered under the onslaught of the night. The people were struggling, in all senses of the word. There weren’t any places for orphaned children that were safe, there weren’t many safe places at all.

And he can tell Talcott is starting to get uncomfortable with the hostility they’re being treated with, so Prompto takes him into an alley on their way to Prompto’s next and by far most foolish attempt at finding a place for Talcott.

They’re on their way to a church.

Prompto knows it will be dangerous for him. He knows that it may be dangerous for Talcott. The Church of Bahamut as a whole has had a… tense relationship with the Speakers and their allies. Not as violent as the rivalry with the Argentums, but tense nonetheless.

But in all his travels Prompto knows there’s good and bad in everyone and everything. Prompto knows there’s a place for the lost in the church sometimes, that sometimes churches can be a kind place with kind people.

It’s becoming rarer in these dark days, but he doesn’t have many options.

Still, he should have expected this to happen.

“Didn’t we tell you people not to walk these parts in broad daylight?” the man hisses.

He’s bigger than Prompto and more muscular, and he’s got Prompto pinned against the wall by his throat. A knife gleams - eager and bright - in his peripheral vision. Talcott is yelling something unintelligible and distressed next to him as he struggles in the grip of another thug in a priest’s habit. Two more circle in Prompto’s periphery, hunched and hungry like predators.

“I don’t mean trouble,” Prompto wheezes. “I’m- This boy-”

“Is an orphan, we know,” the man says, a vicious grin on his lips. “Got a lot of them in this city. Got more and more of them everyday. Heard you were asking around about an orphanage for the brat. We don’t need a _Speaker_ running around meddling in our affairs.”

“Orphans… are _your_ affair then?”

“You think we’ve got the time to scrounge around looking for food for all those hungry little brats?” The man sounds incredulous as he contradicts himself when he shouldn’t. Prompto had thought _care for the orphan_ was a more popular teaching of the church. “What I meant is that it isn’t _yours._ ”

“Thanks for the clarification,” Prompto manages. He chokes as the man bears down harder on his throat.

“You _Speakers,_ ” the man spits. “So high and mighty, so _self-righteous_. You and your ‘Sleeping Soldier’ bullshit should have left this city when you had the chance.”

“‘Sleeping Soldier?’” Prompto manages to wheeze the question. Despite the precariousness of his situation, Prompto feels something stir in him at the sound of it.  

“Don’t act like you don’t know, _Speaker._ It’s all you people ever talk about, acting like he’s our salvation, like _you’re_ the only ones who can wake him.” The man presses harder against Prompto’s throat and Prompto can feel the knife take a place against his pulse just underneath his chin. His grin is wide and snarling. “Well, the _bishop_ is the only one who can lead us to salvation, and he’s got a very _special_ plan for you Speakers.”

“That’s fine,” Prompto coughs. “That’s fine, but let the boy go. He’s not involved in this.”

“Oh, but he is.” The man chuckles. With a nod he motions to the man holding Talcott, who pulls Talcott up by his hair and produces a knife. “He had the misfortune of being corrupted by a Speaker.”

“Right,” Prompto manages to say, reaching beneath his cloak. “There’s a problem.”

“Oh?” The man’s laugh is wicked, even more sinister over the quiet sound of Talcott crying.

“I’m not a Speaker.”

The first bolt from the crossbow goes into the hand of the man holding the knife against Talcott’s neck. He drops the blade, screaming, and the noise is enough of a distraction for the man holding Prompto not to notice that Prompto’s armed himself.

The second bursts through the hand holding a knife to Prompto’s throat. He notices then.

“Bastard!” the man howls, clutching his hand and drawing away, releasing Prompto from his grip. “Fucking bastard!”

That’s all he has time to say, though, before Prompto’s kicking him in the groin. He lets out a yelp of surprise and pain and Prompto lets the vicious thing in him take satisfaction from that before his knuckles connect with the man’s cheekbone for good measure. Prompto grabs the bolt from his hand and pulls, yanking it free with another pained shout from the man, before dashing to the man nearest Talcott.

He kicks him back and away with a foot to the stomach and retrieves his bolt (much to the displeasure of Talcott’s assailant, if the screaming is any indication) before setting himself as an obstacle between Talcott and the remainder of the men.

“Talcott,” he says, short and sharp, bringing his crossbow to eye level. “Run.”

“But-” Talcott protests, voice cracking around a sob.

“It’s ok!” Prompto turns with the most reassuring grin he can muster. “I’ve got this! Just run!”

Talcott seems hesitant, but Prompto can’t focus on him any longer because the other two men are charging him with shouts, finally over the shock of Prompto freeing himself.

He turns and fires a bolt into the first man’s knee, and he shouts and collapses to clutch at it. The other man pushes the first forward, forcing Prompto to step back to avoid his grasping hands as he falls and allowing the second close.

Prompto has to duck to avoid the first swipe of the knife. He barely manages to block the second with the flat of his palm against the man’s wrist before it comes down again.

The man swipes at him again and Prompto tumbles below the arc of the his arm, quickly stowing his crossbow and pulling out his whip. He snaps it in the direction of the man’s hand, meaning to grab his knife, but-

“Oh shit,” Prompto says, grimacing. “Sorry about the finger.”

The man screams in pain as the place where his finger was seeps with thick red blood. “You fucki-”

“And sorry about your hands,” he continues, gesturing to his palm. He taps it meaningfully with one of the bloody crossbow bolts. “To be fair, you two had knives on us. I didn’t really have that many options.”

“You stupid, fucking-” the man who had held him against the wall shouts, still collapsed on the ground. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Oh, right,” Prompto says, sauntering up to the man to crouch next to him. He brushes back his robe far enough to reveal the Argentum crest on his chest. “I’m an Argentum.” The vicious thing in him preens at the fear in the man’s face, despite his common sense screaming over how stupid he’d just been. “Why don’t you all run along and tell your bishop that I’m here?”

And they do. They run. Shouting curses all the way, to be sure, and with one still hobbling with Prompto’s bolt in his knee, but they run.

Prompto lets himself feel some semblance of pride before he asks, “You alright, Talcott?”

But he isn’t, because when Prompto turns, he immediately has to draw his crossbow again to train it on the heart of the large, hulking man next to Talcott.

“Whoa, easy,” the man starts, hands up in a gesture of surrender.

Prompto ignores him, holds the crossbow steady. “Talcott. Step away from him.”

“Wait!” Talcott says this time, jumping up in what seems to be a noble effort to protect the mountain of a man from Prompto’s crossbow. “Wait! He’s here to help!”

“Right.” Prompto lowers the crossbow but keeps it out. “Right, well. I’m good.”

“Shit, yeah, you’re good,” the mountain man laughs. His hands are still up in surrender and everything else about him is just as open. Prompto finds himself trusting him even though his size is beyond intimidating. The man mountain shakes his head in what seems like disbelief, grin on his lips. “I was going to step in, but it seems like you’ve got it more than handled.”

“Well, it’s the thought that counts,” Prompto says, finding himself smiling in response.

“You’re a Speaker, right?” the man says, so casually and easily that it gives Prompto pause. The man must see it in his face, because he raises his hands in surrender again. “Don’t worry, I’m not some spooked villager clinging to the lies of the bishop. I know folks like you, know that you’re decent just like any of us. Maybe more decent, with the way your people here did everything for a city that still wants to see them dead.”

“There are Speakers in the city?” Prompto wonders aloud.

The man nods. “A whole clan of them. Speaking of which, where’s yours?”

“I, ah,” Prompto gulps. He’s not sure how this man will react to Argentums, they tended to be more… controversial. “I was separated from them on the way into the city.”

And it’s not a complete lie. Ignis had left him on the way here.

“Well, I can take you to the Speakers here, if you want. They might be able to do something about the boy. He’s an orphan isn’t he? Heard talk of a Speaker asking for an orphanage today. Imagine that’s you.”

“Well, yes, but you know where they are? The Speakers?” Prompto tilts his head.

Speakers were all for helping the people, that much was certain, but they also had the reasonable paranoia from years of a tense relationship with the Church to hide where they slept and made camp from outsiders. The man seems to realize what he’s getting at, because he gives Prompto an apologetic smile before explaining himself.

“I’m not sure what it’s like where you’re from, but the bishop here is _really_ against the Speakers in this city.”

“I noticed,” Prompto laughs. Then he remembers what the man had said. “One of those bastards said something about a _special plan_ …?”

The man frowns, expression swimming with rage as his entire frame tenses. “Must have been talking about the purge. Bishop’s got it in his head that this, this _demon shit_ is all the Speaker’s fault. He’s planning on killing every Speaker here to _purify_ the city before Bahamut, or some crazy shit like that. Half the city believes him.”

The man practically spits the last part, it’s so full of disgust. “But luckily for you, I’m in the other half. My sister and I have been helping the Speaker clan here move around and stay hidden from the bishop’s men until they can leave. I’d join up with the others, safety in numbers and all that. It’s not much better, but it’s still safer than being on your own. I can take you there if you want.”

Prompto’s still not sure he trusts this man, but one look to Talcott, small and afraid but _hopeful_ for the first time, and he can’t say no.  

“Lead the way, er-” he trails off, searching for a name.

“Gladiolus Amicitia,” the man says with a warm grin. “But you can call me Gladio.”

“Prompto Ar- er, Scientia.” He coughs. “Just Prompto’s fine.”

“Well, Prompto,” Gladio smirks, eyes flicking to the crossbow in his hands. “You can put the weapon away. You’re tiny, but I’d be an idiot to try anything after seeing you fight.”

“You’re right about that.” Prompto pouts. “You _are_ an idiot. And just for that ‘tiny’ comment, I’m keeping it out.”

* * *

 

The impression he’d gotten of the Speaker clan in the city from Gladio was of a people in hiding, sneaking about under the cover of night. _Quiet,_ mostly.

In reality, he hears the shouting from nearly a block away.

“That’d be Ravus,” Gladio winces. “He’s getting worse by the day.”

“Ravus?”

“You’ll meet him soon enough,” Gladio says, with a sympathetic look.

Sure enough, he’s the first person they meet. A man with hair so pale a blond that it’s nearly white bursts from a dilapidated house, shouting something about, _“Finding Gladi_ -oh, Gladio.”

“Ravus,” Gladio acknowledges. Prompto can see the way he tenses, grimacing every so slightly, like he’s preparing for an unpleasant taste.

“What news do you have?” the man - Ravus - asks, looking displeased even though Gladio hasn’t said a thing.

“Still no word on her, but I-”

 _“Damn,”_ Ravus hisses. “Damn it all! Why are you back when you should be _out there_ looking-”

“Ravus,” an older woman warns. “Let him speak. He has new faces with him.”

Gladio says “Thank you, ma’am,” just as Ravus hisses, _“Mother.”_

“And just who are these young men, Gladio?” the woman asks, smiling warmly at Prompto and Talcott in the doorway.

“This is Prompto,” Gladio says, patting his shoulder, urging him forward. Talcott follows to clutch at Prompto’s hand. “The child’s Talcott.”

The old woman accepts their shy greetings with a gracious nod. “You may call me Sylva. And we welcome all who seek refuge, young ones. It is dangerous in the city, especially for a young Speaker on his own. You were fortunate to find Gladio on this day.”

Gladio chuckles, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t say that. Prompto here’s got a fight in him. Took down four of those priests that have been harassing you in combat before I could even get to him. Didn’t know you Speakers carried crossbows these days.”

Gladio can’t know how difficult he’s just made it for Prompto, couldn’t have anticipated the way Ravus’ brows furrow, eyes flicking up and down Prompto’s body in suspicion. He’s close to the Speakers in this city, but he doesn’t know everything about them. He couldn’t have known that Speakers rarely carry weapons. He couldn’t have known they never carried crossbows.

Immediately, he feels all the eyes in the room focusing on him. He gulps, and Talcott seems to sense the tension because he clutches Prompto’s hand tighter.

Ravus approaches to tower over them - expression scornful and angry - and while Prompto knows he can hold his own in a fight, he doesn’t _want_ to. Not when it’s against his only potential allies in this.

“Oh, hush,” Sylva says, voice gentle and calm. But her gaze is piercing and knowing as she asks, “Who are you _really,_ young hunter?”

Just by her look, Prompto can tell she knows, can tell there’s no point in hiding it. He thinks it’s a little cruel of her, cornering him like this. Gladio is the only one who looks confused as Prompto bites his lip and unclips the Speaker’s robes, letting them fall to reveal the Argentum crest on his chest and on his back. “I’m, er, I’m Prompto Argentum of House Argentum, Lady Sylva.”

The rush of murmurs from the other Speakers in the room is overwhelming, to say the least. So he chooses to turn to Gladio with an apologetic smile instead. “Sorry I lied to you.”

Gladio doesn’t look pleased, but he also doesn’t look too upset as he says, tone just on the edge of menacing, “As long as I can count on you not to be a threat to these people, it’s not a problem.”

“I’m not,” Prompto reassures, hands going up in surrender despite the relative calmness of the situation. “I’m a friend. I grew up with Speakers.”

“So we’ve heard,” Lady Sylva says, her expression much warmer from her seat. Unexpectedly, Prompto finds something like relief in the set of her mouth, the crow’s feet on the edges of her eyes. “We’ve heard tell of the last of House Argentum, rumors of a heretic from the North keeping the demons at bay. Truthfully, I-” her voice cracks and Prompto isn’t sure what to make of it. “I’d hoped you’d come here. I’d hoped you’d find your way to us.”

“O-oh,” Prompto stutters, rubbing at the back of his head sheepishly. He’s not used to this. Not used to people looking forward to his arrival. “Well, I’m here now. Not sure how much good I’ll do, though. Caused a bit of a stir, I doubt people in this city will trust me, well, _after.”_

Sylva only gives him a warm smile. “They will understand in time, young one. Your destiny is far greater than this city. Far nobler than you can even imagine.”

“I’m sorry?” he manages to stutter, flushing a little at the unexpected compliment. Still, something in him feels the pull of her words, feels the truth behind them. It’s like the tug he’d felt when Talcott had first mentioned Insomnia, the feeling that answers would be here. “I’m- Do you- Could you explain that?”

 _“Mother,”_ Ravus hisses before she can answer. “We haven’t the time.”

“Of course, Ravus,” his mother says, sounding more sympathetic than annoyed.

“Argentum.” Ravus rounds on Prompto so violently Prompto nearly draws his crossbow in response, but in a split second his face is drawn with desperation. “If you are truly as strong as your bloodline, please, I beg of you: find my sister.”

“Y-your sister?” Prompto stutters, nervous at the intensity of Ravus’ entire being. “Is she, er, is she in the city?”

Ravus’ eyebrows twitch. “She is the reason we remain in this city, yes.”

“Ravus’ sister,” Sylva continues before Ravus can act on his apparent irritation. “My daughter went looking for the Sleeping Soldier when the night horde first arrived here. She and I hoped to spare this city, hoped to at least try before we were run out by the church. But she went alone into the catacombs against all our wishes, and now we fear she is lost to us forever.”

“She was trying to do a brave thing,” Prompto says with a reassuring smile. Then something Sylva had said catches his interest. “I’m sorry, the Sleeping Soldier, I’ve heard that before. What is-?”

“A teaching of the Speakers,” Ravus huffs, annoyed. “A hero of legends, the fire of salvation during the long night. Surely as a friend of Speakers you _must_ have heard the prophecy of the Sleeping Soldier.”

“I-” Prompto hesitates. Looking back, he really hadn’t. And it wasn’t as if he wasn’t paying attention. He’d been tutored alongside Ignis for a majority of his life. He wants to believe that perhaps it’s one of those regional folktales, one that still hadn’t reached his own Speaker clan, but he wonders if it could have been something they’d kept from him all along. _Ignis didn’t want him to come to this place._ “I don’t think I have.”

“No _matter,”_ Ravus says. “We cannot know if the Soldier truly rests below this city, but we do know that we cannot leave this place without my sister. I would look for her but I cannot-” he lowers his voice, leaning in. “I cannot leave the others. My mother is injured and can no longer use magic. If anything should happen, I am the only one who can protect them.

“That is why, Argentum. I ask you to find my sister. Even if it is-” he flinches. “Even if you can only return her corpse. I beg of you. She deserves to return to her family, no matter the circumstances. She cannot rest without it.”

Something about that agitates a particular fear in Prompto. One he’d had ever since he’d set off to find his family’s artifacts. A lonely death, forgotten, shrouded from the people who would see you remembered by distance or circumstances. No one deserves that, especially not a girl who’d only set out in the hopes of saving people, a girl who Prompto hasn’t met but feels a kinship with.

Prompto can’t allow her to suffer that fate.

“I’ll find your sister,” he says, promise in his voice. “I’ll return her to you. Please take care of Talcott in the meanwhile.”

“Of course.” Ravus nods, shoulders dropping every so slightly. “Now please, go with haste.”

“Right.” Prompto smiles, then falters. “Er, where exactly am I going?”

* * *

 “Of course it’s a tomb,” Prompto huffs, lowering himself down the shaft to the catacombs beneath Insomnia. With every stray brick he grabs hold of, he tries desperately to ignore the fact that there are definitely rows and rows of dead people concealed behind them. “Why is everything important always inside a fucking tomb?”

“This is holy grounds,” Gladio warns from above him. He sounds more amused than anything, though. “Watch your language.”

He’d lead Prompto here, to this entry to the catacombs in an abandoned church dedicated to Shiva. Prompto was surprised one still stood, with the way the clergymen of Bahamut alienated anyone who prayed to Shiva nearly a century ago. But he can guess that’s why it’s abandoned.

“Can’t watch my language and my step at the same- Shit!” Prompto cries as a brick falls loose, yelps when a skeletal hand flops free from the hole. He winces at it as he searches for another hand hold. “S-sorry.”

It’s with more haste that he climbs the rest of the way down, if only to avoid freeing another _resident_ of this place. Nearly thirty tombs he’d raided to learn his family’s history, and he still hasn’t gotten used to the smell, the feeling of being around so many dead and lost to the centuries.

He calls up to Gladio who tosses him down a torch and a flint.

“I’ll stick around,” Gladio calls. “In case you need help.”

 _With the body_ , goes unsaid. Prompto got the sense earlier that very few believed the girl he was looking for would be alive.  

But he tries not to dwell on that as he lights the torch and moves forward.

Somehow it’s a calming thing, trotting down a tunnel in the dim light of a flame, lighting the occasional torch on the wall to help him mark the way back. It’s familiar, routine. The hollow sounds of his footsteps against the ground echo off the walls, monotonous enough that it becomes white noise, just loud enough to keep him from thinking too hard about anything.

That had been a lifesaver after the first time he and Ignis had fought three years ago. Having a place to just wander, thoughtless, blissfully detached from anything other than avoiding the occasional trap and moving forward towards a singular goal.

Back then, it had been his family artifacts.

Now, it’s the Speaker girl. He frowns to himself. _He should have gotten her name._

He doesn’t have time to scold himself for the negligence though, because he feels a step falter beneath him and only has time to mutter _“Shit”_ before he feels the ground start to give way. On instinct he dashes forward, but it’s not enough and only causes the floor to fall faster beneath him.

He just manages to land on his feet, laughing incredulously to himself before the floor beneath him gives way _again_ and he hastily pulls his whip from his belt to try to reach something, _anything_.

Before he has the chance to, though, he hits the ground.

“Shit,” he curses rubbing at his ass.

Of course he’d had the good fortune to land directly on a piece of rubble. Well, he muses. At least they weren’t spikes. He counts his blessings and picks himself up to move forward.

And pauses.

The sight before him is innocuous enough, should be a relief on it’s own.

He’s not in some walled-in tomb, some place where he’s trapped without any options. There had been a few of those moments in his days with the Argentum tombs, a few times when he was sure he’d die alone in a dark pit. No, there’s an open corridor ahead of him.

One that he can see is wide and spacious because it’s bright with torches already lit and crackling on the walls. Torches, but not exactly, connected together with filaments and encased in glass.

He supposes anyone else approaching this place would think it was witchcraft.

He feels his stomach drop, feels dread creeping up his spine as he walks forward down the corridor, each step heavy against the clean white floor.

He knows better than anyone else what this is. He knows what this means.

The realization is so overwhelming that he doesn’t hear the thing coming up behind him until the footsteps are close and loud, echoing in the space of the room. On reflex his hands go to his crossbow, drawing it with haste and spinning towards the source of the sound.

His finger twitches over the trigger, ready to fire. But it’s-

“Ignis?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompto: ignis u said u were gonna leave forever it's been like two days what's the truth  
> ignis: the truth is that i missed u :( :( :( 
> 
> ALSO! you've just read 17k congrats!!! if ur reading this all at once, take a break! drink some water! eat a snack! look away from ur screen! submit yourself to the call of slumber
> 
> give me a little yell on [my tumblr](http://brosura.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/bigkatsanctuary)


	5. don't look so afraid

“Put that _down,”_ Ignis huffs, as if Prompto isn’t training a deadly weapon directly at his heart. “It’s only me.”

Prompto stands where he is a moment longer, slack-jawed and and wide-eyed. Ignis ends up having to swipe away the crossbow from his heart himself with a long-suffering sigh.

He’s more frustrated than he knows he should be, Prompto’s response is only natural, his appearance here is truly strange, but Ignis never wanted Prompto to reach this place and the frustration of that failure is stirring up everything tense and irritable in him.

Ever since he’d learned of the prophecy, he knew he never wanted Prompto to find out about the Sleeping Soldier. He counted his blessings when they were young that their Speaker clan never travelled near Insomnia, that they seemed to collectively agree that Prompto should live free of the burden of that prophecy.

But somehow Ignis had always known Prompto would be drawn here, like a moth to a flame.

He’d been scared to hear Talcott say the name of this place, scared at the way Prompto seemed to awaken at the sound of it. He’d always been afraid that Prompto would make his way to this city, would chase this fool’s dream to his own demise.

He hates that he was right.

“Ignis?” Prompto breathes. His face is swimming with a mixture of emotions - relief, confusion, fear. Ignis isn’t sure where the last is coming from. “How did you-?”

“I heard there was a Speaker clan looking for the Sleeping Soldier and figured that’s the sort of thing that would attract a fool like you.”

It’s not completely a lie. He’d arrived in Insomnia to the chorus of gossip that there was an outsider Speaker and an orphan causing trouble for the clergy. The gossip went on to say that he’d likely went into hiding with the other Speakers, and some awful things about stakes and burning.

At any rate, he couldn’t be certain that Prompto would join up with the Speakers, but it was what was the most likely to happen.

And the most likely thing to happen after that was, well, this.

“Oh,” Prompto says, stowing his crossbow distantly, eyes still fixed with confusion on Ignis. “Oh, right. Well, I’m actually here for a girl.”

Ignis raises his eyebrow. “A girl?”

“Yes,” Prompto nods, then recognizes the look Ignis is giving him. He frowns and points a finger at Ignis. “Not like that, get that out of your head. She’s from the Speakers in this city, got lost looking for the Sleeping Soldier.”

“Ah,” Ignis says, but it’s more of a sigh than anything. “I imagine there’s no stopping you, then.”

Prompto frowns. “Her brother asked me to find her. And her mother, they only- they want her with them, when they leave.”

“Then we ought to find her,” Ignis says, gentler this time.

He knows the beliefs of Speakers surrounding death. Even he’s not so cruel as to condemn this girl to an eternity of unrest, even if only in the eyes of her family. Truthfully, he’d worried Prompto would suffer this fate during his three years apart from them.

He’d worried about a lot of things.

And he’s relieved that for now at least, Prompto seems unconcerned with the prophecy when Ignis was certain he’d have to drag him out of the catacombs for his own good.

Prompto seems surprised at his acceptance, though. Ignis doesn’t fault him for that. The circumstances they’d parted under were tense, to say the least.

“Right,” Prompto starts, dubious. “Er, then. This way.”

The next few moments are tense and awkward, and the setting doesn’t help. This place is strange and foreign and seems like it doesn’t belong under the city, like it shouldn’t belong anywhere. Ignis hasn’t seen anything like it in all his travels, hasn’t heard of places with torches that light on their own without fire in any of the Speaker’s legends. If Prompto is fazed by it, he doesn’t let on to the fact.

And he breaks the silence with, “The Speakers here told me the Sleeping Soldier is something of theirs, but I never heard about him back home. Did Old Nan ever teach you about something like that?”

“No,” Ignis lies. “I imagine that it’s because we’d never made it close enough to Insomnia to pick up their legends.”

“I figured it was that,” Prompto sighs. He sounds relieved and guilt curls in Ignis’ gut at the trust he can hear being placed in his lie. “Well, do you believe it now that you’re here?”

“I believe there’s _something_ under here,” Ignis admits, honestly. Everything about this place is strange, foreboding. He wants Prompto out of here.

“Me, too,” Prompto says and Ignis remembers the way he’d changed in the village before they’d found Talcott. The tenseness, the look of being hunted.

They move through the remaining series of corridors in a tense silence, the words of their last argument heavy in the air between them. Ignis imagines Prompto is wondering why Ignis has come back, imagines he’s blaming himself for all this, even though Ignis was the one who’d started the fight. Even though Ignis had told Prompto he was walking away from the people who cared about him when _he_ was the one who walked away. When Ignis was the one who let his fear turn into an anger that lashed out and burned the one person he was trying to protect.

He hates being right.

“I didn’t mean it the way you thought,” Prompto finally says, quiet. “I didn’t mean that you weren’t important to me. I’m sorry. You are, you’re important. You’re _very_ important to me.”

And deep down, Ignis had known that, even though the words had cut when Prompto had said them. Even though they’d agitated the fear that Prompto had outgrown him. And it still hurts now, knowing that what Prompto had really meant was that his own life and happiness were inconsequential when held against the weight of his duty.

The realization of that is what led him back here to Prompto’s side, the fear that Prompto would give and give and that the world would take and take until there was nothing left and he would die without anyone or anything for himself. If Prompto wasn’t willing to be selfish, then Ignis would be.

And the selfish part of him doesn’t want to lose Prompto to some legend. The selfish part of him wants to stay by his side.

“I know that,” he says, as reassuring as he can manage. “I know. There’s no need to apologize.”

“But I lied to you, I didn’t want to come here just for Talcott.” Prompto admits, looking far more guilty than he has any reason to be. “Something about this place felt different. I don’t know, it’s just. It feels like I’m supposed to be here.”

Ignis hates being right.

He hates the look in Prompto’s eyes - determined, fearful, a boy faced with his responsibilities, the weight of the circumstances of his birth for the first time. Ignis doesn’t care if the legend is true or not, he doesn’t want it to be. _Or at least-_

He sighs.

“There are more important things you must do then rot away in this tomb,” Ignis says. It’s honest and disingenuous all at once. He’s trying to be a distraction. “I, ah, I’m sorry I made you feel like there weren’t, like your pursuits were a waste. That I belittled your efforts. I’m only-” _I’m afraid for you._ “I just wanted to see you safe.”

“I know,” Prompto smiles at him, warm and open. “And I’m sorry that I can’t be the person you were hoping for.”

 _Don’t say that,_ he wants to say. _You’re so much more than the person I was hoping for. So much more than I could ever hope to be worthy of. I only hoped to keep you alive long enough that you would realize that for yourself._

Instead, he says, with a smile of his own, “It’s the fool I chose to follow, not the practical man.”

Prompto gives him another smile and the silence that follows isn’t as tense as the one before, the hollow sound of their footfalls isn’t quite so oppressive.

“Why’d you come back?” Prompto finally says. Ignis can see the way he braces himself for the answer in the tense line of his mouth.

“For the record,” Ignis says, flicking between his brows. “You’re important to me, too.”

“Sap,” Prompto grins.

Then his expression immediately twists into one of horror. “Oh, what the _hell-_ ”

“Indeed.” Ignis hisses.

* * *

“Do you think this is her? The missing Speaker girl?” Ignis asks, rapping a set of knuckles on the forehead of either an intricately carved statue of a Speaker, hands up in fright, or a Speaker in the midst of a very bad day.

There’s a handful of statues here, all dilapidated and crushed but this one, an eerie and lifelike thing.

“I don’t know,” Prompto frowns, arms crossed as he shifts from foot to foot, moving in front of the stone face as if he expects the eyes to follow him. “It could be.”

“Well, I imagine she didn’t walk herself down here, with a _stony_ countenance like this,” Ignis deadpans. From the other side of the statue, Prompto gives him a disapproving look. “What could have-”

Before the first rumble sounds, Prompto’s back straightens and he tenses in every limb. He draws his crossbow with a particular kind of efficiency and puts himself between Ignis and the darkness of a corridor.

“I know what did this,” he says, fear in his voice. “Brace yourself.”

And Ignis does, he pulls the knives from his hips and holds them at the defensive, moving to put himself between the girl and whatever Prompto is facing.

“What is it?!” he hisses, panic just edging in his tone.

“Not good,” Prompto answers, eyes wide and alert as the rumbles - _footsteps,_ Ignis realizes - grow closer, louder until the walls around them shiver with the force of whatever is concealed in dark. “Very bad.”

“A demon?”

But before Prompto has a chance to answer, the thing steps forward and is washed in the dim light of the room. It’s a mountain of a beast, muscular and man-shaped but only _just_ so, with skin the eerie mottled grey of a corpse. A soft dripping echoes throughout the room as saliva drips from its fanged jaws, but the only thing Ignis can focus on is its single, bulging eye.

“A cyclops,” Prompto corrects, a moment too late. “Move!”

Ignis doesn’t have time to question the urgency in the command - he’d always imagined a cyclops would be a bumbling thing - before he hears a sickening _wet_ sound and the creature’s eye seems to split open and a beam of reddish light starts to glow at the tip of it.

“Cover!” Prompto calls as he grabs Ignis by the collar and drags him towards a pillar.

The reddish glow shoots forward in a ray of light with a crackling roar, like thunder, and only just misses Prompto, catching the edge of his cloak - _Ignis’_ cloak.

Ignis isn’t quite sure what he was expecting - fire, perhaps, based on the color of the light - but when Prompto manages to drag him behind a pillar he sees that the edge of Prompto’s cloak has turned to a grey stone, crawling up the cloth slowly.

Prompto hisses and breaks the stone edge of his cloak against the pillar before turning to Ignis, eyes wide and frantic.

“Don’t get hit.”

“I can see that.”

“Shit!”

Another ray of light from the creature’s eye cracks against the pillar they’re hiding behind and they duck against each other to avoid being exposed to it.

“We need a strategy!” Ignis shouts down to where Prompto’s curled against his chest over the roar of the beam.

A moment passes where Prompto only blinks up at Ignis, expectant. Then something like understanding shifts his expression to one of panic. “Why are you looking at me?!”

“I thought you’d spent the year fighting demons!”

Prompto balks. “Not this kind! Oh shit-!”

He drags them both out from behind the pillar just as the ray of light sears through it, striking the wall with a loud crash. Ignis sheathes his knives in the meanwhile, they’re useless to him now, and raises his hand, preparing to channel his magic.

“Don’t use fire!” Prompto shouts from somewhere across the room. His voice bounces off the high walls.

“Noted,” Ignis says, circling his finger in the air in a familiar pattern, pale blue light glowing from the tip of it.

He feels something cold rush from through his veins and he focuses on the creature before feeling for his magic and _pulling._ Four sharp blades of ice burst from the ground, aimed at the heart of the creature.

But it notices his game and points its light at the tips, sharp and gleaming. They stutter and halt just a breath from wounding the creature, and Ignis watches as the ice starts to turn to stone until it’s rooted solidly to the ground. He looks on in horror as it seems to search for the source of the attack, shifting it’s eye slowly towards him.

He hastily pulls up a wall of ice, barely stopping the creature’s first ray before it can hit him.

It doesn’t hold for long, though. So he tumbles out of the way and dashes towards a pillar, pulling up another ice wall for cover.

And another.

And another.

He pulls up one more to catch the creature’s ray as he retreats behind the relative safety of stone, throwing his back against it and panting with the effort of his escape.

“Ignis!” Prompto shouts from somewhere across the room, voice slightly muffled. “I’m fighting with a crossbow and a whip, could you take it easy on the _obstacles?_ ”

“Think of them as cover,” Ignis shoots back. “A little help would be grand, by the way!”

“I’m working on it!” Prompto calls, and he sounds closer this time.

Ignis moves just so that he can see from behind his pillar, wincing at the sparks of creature’s light. Prompto’s in his sights, dashing low beneath the cover of Ignis’ petrified ice walls. Seemingly without hesitation, he vaults himself over the part that had crumbled away under the force of the cyclops’ ray and sprints quietly out of sight.

Ignis rushes to the other side of the pillar and just barely manages to catch Prompto steadying himself behind the cyclops, pulling a longer arrow from somewhere in his robes. He blinks and misses Prompto firing it, but the way the creature stops is indication enough that Prompto’s struck true.

He thinks for a moment it’s over with the way the creature stands still as a statue, but then it turns, slowly and steadily towards Prompto.

“Shit!” he hears Prompto hiss, and then the ray of light is screeching through the room, presumably directed towards Prompto, whose frantic footfalls echo throughout the chamber. “I hit your heart- _fuck!_ _Act like it_ , you bastard!”

“Prompto!” Ignis runs out from behind the pillar, magic ready and thrumming through his veins.

He catches a glimpse of Prompto throwing himself over one of the collapsed ice walls, throwing himself back against the taller part of it just as the cyclops’ beam strikes. He looks around the room frantically before settling on Ignis. Something like realization dawns on his face, and he fumbles to draw his whip.

He gives Ignis a look and a half-fearful smirk before giving Ignis a little nod and Ignis knows from experience that he’s asking if he’s ready.

Ignis sighs. _Reckless._ He nods in confirmation.

“Ignis!” Prompto shouts, the whip in his hand drawn back and ready. “Knife!”

“Incoming!” Ignis retorts, throwing the knife in question.

The knife lodges itself into the wall opposite Prompto, and he snaps the whip easily from where he’s still taking cover behind the ice wall to wrap around the hilt of it. With a series of graceful spins, he pulls it free from the wall and builds up the momentum for it.

He gives Ignis another nod, “Now! Use the ice!”

And Ignis does. He understands the principle of a distraction easily enough. So he calls the cold to his fingertips again and draws his hand back, hearing the ice creak and groan behind the creature as it rises up to stab it in the back.

It pauses again - like when Prompto had struck it’s heart - and seems to think for a moment.

But that moment is enough for Prompto to emerge from cover and launch the knife from the whip at an audible speed directly into the great eye of the beast with a sickening slick noise.

The effects of this wound are far more immediate than the other two. It stops, shudders, groans.

As it falls to its knees, Ignis can see his petrified ice walls returning to normal in that slow, creeping way.

Prompto pulls the knife free from the beast with an audible _schlick,_ letting it clatter on the ground before them. He picks it up and grimaces at the blackish fluids along the blade and presents it to Ignis sheepishly.

“Thanks for the knife,” he says with a shaky grin. “H-here.”

“You keep it,” Ignis teases. “I don’t want to clean it.”

“Of course,” Prompto says with another grimace. He pockets the knife anyway, though, and gives Ignis a proud smile. “But, ah, thank you. That was good teamwork.”

“That was good hunting,” Ignis returns with a grin, feeling the adrenaline and tenseness transform immediately into that giddy relief of being alive.

“Thank yo-”

Prompto pauses at the sound of someone groaning, eyes growing wide. They rush back to the statue of the Speaker girl just in time for Prompto to catch her, guiding her down to her knees slowly.

“Who-?” is all she manages to croak before she doubles over and throws up.

“Whoa there, you’re ok,” Prompto reassures, squatting next to the girl to rub a hand soothingly up her back. “We’re friends, your mother and brother sent us.”

“Ravus? Mother? Where-?” she finally says, voice cracking with disuse and likely the aftereffects of vomiting. “What _happened_ to me?”

“Stone-eye Cyclops,” Prompto explains, almost too cheerful. “The big bastards turn you to stone and feed off your fear while you’re stuck like that. Luckily for you, killing it reversed the effects.”

“And you killed it?” the girl says, sounding awestruck as she looks between the two of them, blue eyes wide.

“Well,” Prompto flushes. “Me and my friend, er, my friend and I- It was teamwork.”

“Then I am eternally grateful to you both,” the girl says, rising to her feet. Prompto hovers, as if worried she’ll collapse again. She smiles something warm and grateful at him. “My name is Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, but you may call me Luna. And you are?”

“I’m Prompto Argentum,” Prompto says before Ignis can even get the chance to stop him.

He feels something in his stomach drop as something like realization dawns in the girl - Luna’s eyes.

“Argentum?” she asks. “As in, House Argentum? The hunters of legend?”

“Well, I’m not sure about the legend part…” Prompto laughs sheepishly, but the girl is undeterred.

“A hunter and a scholar,” she breathes, and the words are familiar and heavy on Ignis’ gut.

“Excuse me?”

“A Speaker-magician,” the girl says, ignoring Prompto’s question. Her eyes wide as she looks at the great structures of ice in the room. “A _scholar.”_ Her eyes are bright with recognition and relief as she turns to the two of them and breathes, “Then _you_ are the ones the prophecy-”

“We are _not,”_ Ignis cuts in, sharp as he can feel panic rising in his gut.

Prompto blinks at the tone, but the girl seems unfazed, if a little annoyed.

“Speaker-Magician…” she trails off, searching for a name.

“Ignis Scientia,” he offers as sourly as he can manage.

“Speaker Ignis,” she continues. “Surely you must know of the Sleeping Soldier’s prophecy, surely you understand what your arrival means-”

“The only thing I understand,” Ignis interrupts. “Is that we’re standing next to the corpse of the thing that nearly killed you and you wish to talk about fairy tales.”

The look in Luna’s eyes is distinctly annoyed as he says this, and unlike so many other Speakers and so much like her brother, Ignis can see a fire and a willingness to _fight_ burning in her eyes. It doesn’t have a chance to flicker into any words between them, though, because Prompto steps between them physically, an apologetic look on his face.

“I’m sorry about my friend’s, er, _bluntness_ Miss Luna, but I’m afraid I have to agree with him,” he says, sounding sheepish. “That cyclops may not have been the only thing dangerous in this place.”

“Of course,” Luna says, lifting herself off the ground with a proud grace and starting towards the way they came. It’s admirable, at least, that after such an experience she still has her wits about her. “Come, Prompto, Ignis. I wish to- I wish to see my family. And I imagine my mother has much to talk to you about.” She gives them an enigmatic smile. “You have a very important role to play.”

Ignis expects Prompto will preen at this, that he’ll straighten his back the way he does whenever he feels like he’s accomplished something. He expects some indication that Prompto knows he’s about to get the answers he’d confessed to looking for in this city.

What Ignis doesn’t expect is that look from before. _Fear, apprehension. The look of someone hunted._ Prompto gives the dark corridor a long, inscrutable look before he visibly forces himself to turn and follow at Luna’s heels.

Ignis doesn’t know where the look came from, why it’s appeared twice now. He doesn’t know what Prompto is being hunted by.

The only thing he knows with certainty is that Prompto must never return to this place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> luna: meet me in the pit for a fistfight  
> ignis: we are in the pit  
> luna: square up then  
> ignis: gladly  
> prompto: u guys there's dead bodies here can we do this later :( :( :(
> 
> give me a little yell on [my tumblr](http://brosura.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/bigkatsanctuary)


	6. we've been through worse than this before we could talk

“Mother!” Luna cries as she throws open the door to the house where the Speakers were hiding.

She’d held herself together for much of the walk back - straight-backed with evenly-paced steps - belying nothing of the fact that she’d been trapped in stone for the last few days. This is the first Prompto has seen of the girl who’d nearly faced death as she throws herself into her mother’s arms. The first of the sobs comes when Sylva lays a gentle hand on her cheek and Luna immediately presses herself into her mother’s neck, shoulders shaking. Ravus, wide-eyed in awe and disbelief, approaches slowly, lays a hand gently on his sister’s shoulder and collapses to his knees next to her.

It feels private, intimate. It feels like something they shouldn’t be watching.

Prompto almost wants to step out of the room, but Sylva meets his eyes with a warm smile and says, breathless and tearful, “Thank you, young Argentum.”

He gives her a shaky, but genuine smile in return. Sure, he feels like he’s not supposed to see this, but a part of him is grateful to be here as well. As much as he wishes it wasn’t the case, it’s not often these things end well. It’s not often he can see a family reunited like this.

He’s still about to step out, though, to give them privacy, when something small rushes just under his eyeline.

“Master Ignis!” Talcott cries, latching himself to Ignis’ side. “You’re alive!”

“Yes,” Ignis says in a huff of breath that sounds like a laugh. It seems even his sour mood wasn’t immune to Talcott’s enthusiasm. He’d been sulking ever since they’d left the catacombs, desperate to get Prompto to leave much to Luna’s annoyance. “Indeed, Talcott.”

“What did I tell you about calling him Master Ignis?” Prompto teases.

“Master Ignis!” Talcott continues, undeterred. “Where did you go?! Where were you?! When did you-?!”

“Hush now,” Ignis mutters, sound a mix between embarrassed and amused. “I left, but I wasn’t very far behind you. I had to make sure you made it here safely, after all.”

“We arrived safe and sound, sir,” Talcott grins. “Master Prompto kept us safe! With his _demon_ weapon!”

“Hey.” Prompto frowns. “It’s not a demon-

“And Master Ignis!” Talcott is uninterruptable. “Master Ignis!”

“Yes, boy,” Ignis says, a touch fond underneath all the exasperation. “Out with it.”

“They’re witches just like you! They can make fire in their hands, like this!” Talcott beams. He holds out his palm cheerfully, not sensing the room steadily growing quiet around him.

Talcott can’t know what he’s stirring up, can’t sense the way all eyes turn to Ignis as he brandishes his little palm and he can’t see the way Ignis’ eyes grow colder in response.

Sylva and Luna share a look, and it’s not a moment later that Luna, voice surprisingly even for the amount of crying she’d only just been doing, explains, “He’s a Speaker-Magician, mother.”

Ignis glares at her in response, but she pays him no mind, taking a seat next to her mother with a deceptively serene expression on her face.

“We didn’t know you were travelling with a Speaker-Magician,” Sylva says to Prompto, looking as inexplicably hopeful as Luna had back in the catacombs.

“E-er,” Prompto stutters, entirely unused to this kind of attention. “Is that a problem?”

“Far from it,” Luna laughs and Prompto finds himself flushing at the sound.

Ignis sulks more visibly beside him, standing straight-backed and tense beside him.

“Tell me,” Sylva says, that inscrutable smile on her face. “What do you two know of the prophecy of the Sleeping Soldier?”

“I’ve never heard-” Prompto starts.

“Only that it’s a myth,” Ignis interrupts, as inexplicably cold and curt as he’d been with Luna in the catacombs. Prompto can see the way Luna immediately tenses at his tone. Prompto feels at once embarrassed and confused by the change in behavior. Ignis could be sharp but he was never _cutting_ like this. It’s enough that he doesn’t catch the contradiction at first. Doesn’t catch Ignis’ lie. “A myth created by those who would see us Speakers dead or harmed, and perpetuated by the trust and blind faith of Speakers like you.”

“Do you truly have no faith in your own teachings?” Luna says, shoulders straightening in the seat she’s taken by her mother, swiping a hand quickly across her eyes. Prompto likes her. She seems proud and fearless, both in the way she’d faced the catacombs and the way she faces Ignis now. “And can you truly not see the signs? That beast that attacked us, it was put there to protect something.”

“Or it was put here to kill all the gullible Speakers who came here in search of their Soldier, the way it almost killed _you.”_

“Come now, you two,” Sylva scolds, looking at once annoyed and amused. She turns to address Prompto with that patient, warm smile. “Since you seem to be unaware, Young Argentum, the prophecy of the Sleeping Soldier is a prophecy of hope and light in a darkening world. Regardless of if you believe in it’s veracity or not,” she says, looking pointedly at Ignis. “You cannot deny that your arrival is most auspicious when the prophecy calls for-”

“It is only coincidence,” Ignis interrupts. His arms are crossed and he leans against the wall in a way that would look casual if it weren’t for the frantic look in his eyes.

“You will show my mother respect,” Ravus cuts in, but Ignis doesn’t seem to care.

“It is human to see patterns where there are none,” he says.

“Perhaps you are right,” Luna says, meeting Ignis’ gaze, unwavering. “And perhaps I might be more open to consider it a coincidence if there were an abundance of Argentums in this world, and yet you - a scholar of Speaker magic - travel alone with the last of his house. The last of the house of hunters.”

“The prophecy only calls for a hunter and a scholar to wake the Sleeping Soldier. It’s vague so that any meaning can be assigned to it, that’s the way prophecies _are,_ ” Ignis scoffs, and while Prompto still isn’t entirely sure what the prophecy entails, he catches, finally and immediately, that he’s been lied to.

_Ignis had said he’d never heard of the prophecy._

He feels his gut drop at the implication. Ignis has never lied to him. It’s more often the opposite, Ignis has always been the one to tell him the truths he didn’t want to hear. It’s jarring to hear otherwise, to know that Ignis has kept something secret from him.

He’d trusted him.

But Ignis hadn’t wanted him to come here.

Ignis hadn’t let anyone tell him what the prophecy _actually was._

Ignis was hiding something from him.

Ignis was lying.

“Ignis,” he cuts in, unable to stop the hollow feeling in his gut from crawling up his throat, demanding answers. Ignis blinks at him, looking cornered. “A moment.”

* * *

They’re silent for a long while in the alley behind the run down house the Speakers had taken refuge in.

Prompto’s too afraid to break the silence even though he’s the one who called them out here. He’s the one who wanted answers.

“What is the prophecy?” Prompto finally says, staring at a fixed point on the wall. “I want to hear it from you. Make me understand why you’ve been hiding it from me.”

“It’s nothing,” Ignis starts, but Prompto can hear the nervousness in his voice. He was never good at lying, Prompto doesn’t understand how he’d kept this from him. “It’s just superstition.”

 _“Just superstition,”_ Prompto repeats with a frown. “But it was real enough that you hid it from me, kept me from this place, _lied-_ ” Prompto sucks in a breath. “Just- just tell me the fucking prophecy, Ignis.”

There’s a long pause, and Prompto knows Ignis well enough to know that he’s got his brows stuck together, arms crossed, fingers to the bridge of his nose. The way he always looks when he’s considering his options. Prompto expects the long sigh that breaks the silence as well.

“Legend tells of a Soldier, one strong enough to hold back the dark, sleeping beneath the city of Insomnia,” Ignis starts. “And the ones who are to awaken him and help guide humanity through this time are said to be a hunter and a scholar. I imagine they think I’m the scholar and-”

“And the hunter is me,” Prompto breathes. It’s a weight off his shoulders and heavy stone in his gut at the same time.

He’d wondered why he was so drawn to this place, he’d wondered what the pull was. Hearing the prophecy, even in such loose terms, has everything falling into place.

But he also remembered the lights in the catacombs, the things he’d learned from his family’s tombs. He never imagined he’d have to be ready so soon.

“It’s nonsense, Prompto,” Ignis insists, but even he doesn’t sound convinced this time. Only desperate. “And we ought to leave before this city sees us both killed for it.”

It’s reasonable, really. Prompto understands, but something about Ignis’ insistence at keeping up the charade, at maintaining this clearly forced disbelief, sparks something in Prompto. He rounds on Ignis, meeting his eyes.

“You said in the catacombs that you never meant to belittle my efforts,” he starts, hot anger just starting to simmer in his gut. “And yet you’ve been doing it this whole time. You couldn’t even trust me enough to hear a prophecy you didn’t even believe was true! Just admit that you think I’m weak! It’s obvious enough!”

“That’s not true,” Ignis bristles. “I have never thought such a thing in my life!”

“Then why keep me from coming here, if you couldn’t trust me with my own fate, my own destiny?”

“Because I knew if I told you, you’d run straight into the fire,” Ignis presses. “It’s what you’ve always done.”

“I’ve _told_ you,” Prompto says, feeling the low-burning fire in him grow and grow. “I’ve told you again and again that I wasn’t going to stop. If I can help people, no matter the cost-”

“Even if the cost is your life?!”

“Even so!” Prompto insists. “If it’s to save lives, if it’s to save the world, then my life is meaningless-”

“Enough!” Ignis practically shouts. “You ask why I kept the prophecy from you? _That_ is why! You’d throw your life away so easily, it’s difficult enough to keep you from lighting your own funeral pyre _without_ the kindling of that blasted prophecy! To be responsible for your death-”

“Why do you even care if I’m alive?!” Prompto can’t stop himself from shouting. Truthfully, it’s something he’d wondered for a long time. He’d thought it was a dream to see Ignis again after their fight three years ago, he’d been waiting for the catch. “If I’m such a- such a _burden_ to you, then why even bother stopping me?!”

“Because I _love_ you,” Ignis says, words practically spilling out of his mouth. It’s so sudden that Prompto has nothing to say, can only gape at him. He expects Ignis to correct himself, to say something else, to rescind what he’s said, but he only doubles down, something desperate and mournful in his eyes. He looks like he’s about to lose someone. “Gods, Prompto, I care because I _love_ you more than you can imagine, more than I should be allowed.”

“Wh-” _Why?_ He means to say. _How?_ But he can’t manage to say it.

If the revelation that Ignis was lying to him was a something carving a hollow into his gut, the revelation that Ignis _loves him_ is like being stabbed. It’s sudden and jolting, overwhelming until it’s all he can focus on. All the moments they’ve had together flash before his eyes. Playing together as boys, Ignis’ hand clasping his as they prayed over the effigy of his parents. The fight three years ago.

Truthfully, there had been a part of him that had always admired Ignis, even in their three years apart. Some part of him always longed for Ignis’ company, in any capacity.

But he doesn’t understand what Ignis could want from him.

“You truly can’t see yourself,” Ignis explains, seeming to understand the questions in Prompto’s face. “Everything about you is bright and brave in a way I could never hope to be. You’re unfailingly reckless and brash, but you’re unfailingly kind and good. You would see a little boy to safety even at the cost of your own, without hesitation. And even though I’d fought you, even though I’d told you to die in so many words when we’d parted, the first time you greeted me it was with a smile. I couldn’t help loving you if I tried.

“And can you imagine what it’s _like_ ? To watch you throw yourself again and again into danger, thinking that you’re worth nothing but what you can contribute. Gods, Prompto, I never meant to- I never wanted you to believe I thought of you as some kind of- some kind of _burden_ , I only- I can’t bear to watch you think of yourself as nothing.”

Ignis looks close to tears at the end of it, and it’s so foreign and jarring. Prompto never wanted to see him like this, so _pained._ It cuts deeper that he knows it’s because of him.

“Ignis,” he manages to stutter. “I- I don’t know-”

He can’t manage to form the next word, but Ignis smiles anyway, and in a moment Prompto feels the warmth of a hand cupping his cheek.

“I made a mistake three years ago, pushing you away. I was young and upset and didn’t realized what the things I felt for you meant. Even now, I tried to deny it. I was afraid, and so I lied,” he says, softly. “But I can’t lie to you any longer. I love you, Prompto, and I’m sorry. I don’t ask that you love me in return - I don’t think I deserve that, selfish coward that I am. Only, let me stay by your side. Let me protect you when I can. And please, don’t throw your life away on this.”

For the first time, Prompto wants to be selfish.

All the things buzzing around in his skull - the lights in the chamber, the beast in the catacombs, the pull of the prophecy, the fact that Ignis loves him - they all settle for the first time and urge him to listen to Ignis, to run away. For the first time, he wants to see the future, not to save lives at the cost of his own. For the first time, he wants to live until the sunrise.

Only, it’s never been about what he wanted.

It takes great effort to suck in a breath, lay a hand over Ignis’ where it’s resting on his cheek and say, “I’m sorry, but something about this place- I just, I have to try. If you love- if what you’ve said is true, then you should know that I have to try.”

And for the first time Ignis doesn’t look angry, only fondly exasperated and a little sad, “I know. I’ve always known. I just never wanted to accept it.”

“And now?”

“I’ve said it already,” Ignis says, a small, sad smile on his face. “I want to stay by your side.”

There are so many things Prompto wants to say, wants to ask. His emotions are an overwhelming flood throughout, there are things battling in him that had never stirred before.

But he doesn’t get the chance, because footsteps ring up the alley, growing louder.

Ignis withdraws his hand and Prompto feels the loss of it like stepping out into the cold, but they both tense at the sound, too much a product of this wretched world to be caught completely off guard.

But it’s only Gladio, so Prompto waves at him if only to let Ignis know that they’re not in danger.

Well, that’s what Prompto had thought. But as Gladio approaches, he can see the panic etched into his expression, the urgency.

“Gladio,” Prompto starts.

“There’s a problem,” Gladio says in lieu of an actual greeting. “Get inside.”

* * *

“And you said that they plan to carry this out tonight?” Sylva says, calm demeanor belying the urgency of the situation. The danger.

They’re sitting gathered around Sylva and Gladio, who converse in quiet, serious voices. Talcott - unsatisfied with the short reunion he was allowed with Ignis - sits between Prompto and Ignis, clinging to their robes and fidgeting every now and again with an anxious energy.

“Before sunset,” Gladio confirms. The panic from before is gone and now he only looks exhausted, he only looks lost. Prompto doesn’t blame him. “They’re holding Iris in the Church of Bahamut and they’re going to burn her first, as a message about harboring you Speakers. The bishop says it’s urgent. Supposedly they’ve started seeing the horde gather outside the walls, they want to get it over with.”

The room is silent with the weight of the news. They’re in a rock and a hard place, stuck weighing the value of lives. Do the Speakers run and save themselves, now that Luna is safe, and leave Gladio’s little sister to die? Or do they risk becoming bigger targets to rescue her?

Prompto can’t help but feel like he’s contributed to this situation. If he hadn’t antagonized those priests wearing Speaker’s colors, this might not have happened. Well, it’s too late for that.

“I can’t ask you to put yourselves in danger for me,” Gladio says, but he sounds resigned as he says it.

“Nonsense,” Sylva replies, adamant. “You and Iris have protected us for nearly a year now, when others would turn a blind eye. We cannot abandon you.”

“Mother,” Luna says, that steely look in her eye. “Allow me to go.”

But it’s Ravus that answers with, “I won’t allow it!”

 _“Ravus,”_ Luna sighs, but he continues undeterred.

“You’ve only just returned to us Luna, and you’re throwing yourself back into danger?! If something happens to you-”

“Then so be it,” Luna says, back straight, expression unwavering. “I cannot abandon those in need, especially not one as kind as Iris. And one of us needs to stay behind to guard mother and the others. We are the only ones with magic here, and if you will not help the Amicitias, then _I_ will go.”

The words are so familiar that Prompto almost feels like he’s hearing himself speak.

So he’s not surprised with himself when he says, impulsively, “It’s alright, Lady Lunafreya. I’ll go.”

He winces, looking to Ignis and expecting that sour expression on his face, but… he doesn’t. Ignis only looks unsurprised, smiling something resigned and small.

“Prompto,” Luna says, eyes wide. “I cannot ask you to involve yourself in this.”

“You don’t have to ask me,” Prompto says with a shaky, but genuine smile. “I’m an Argentum. Our duty is to protect the people, no matter who they are and no matter what I’m protecting them from.”

“I thought it was a demons and monsters thing,” Gladio teases, but he looks relieved as Prompto speaks.

“Well,” Prompto gives him a grin in return. “I’m sure we’ll find some of those along the way.”

“Actually,” Luna says. “The church where they’re holding Iris has an entrance to the catacombs and there’s a section of it I haven’t- Perhaps,” she trails off, rubbing her thumb over one of her knuckles absently where they’re resting in her lap.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting. Perhaps for Ignis to interrupt again, to make some comment about how the Sleeping Soldier was a child’s tale again. Instead he says, sounding resigned, “You mean to end this tonight.”

And instead it’s Ravus that stands up, eyebrows furrowed.

“Lunafreya, you _mustn’t-!”_

“Ravus,” Luna interrupts, voice steady and determined. “Even after we save Iris, the reason she was imprisoned remains. Their fear of the demons will only claim more victims - perhaps Speakers, perhaps some of their own. And the demons will claim even more. But if we can stop this, if we can wake the Sleeping Soldier, we can _end_ this.”

“If you can survive bishop’s men in the first place!” Ravus says. “Luna, please, be reasonable. We must stay together! Argentum already volunteered, and he has the Speaker-Magician with him. _The hunter and the scholar,_ and they don’t _need_ you-”

“Except that I’m the only one who knows the way through the catacombs,” Luna says, and it’s true. She’d had to lead them out, Prompto doesn’t remember the way back in. “I’m the only one of us who knows the way. And I- I won’t let others suffer for the things I’ve said. I’ll fight my own battles, as you must fight your own, Ravus.”

“Lunafreya,” Ravus says, but he sounds defeated. “Please.”

“Take care of the others, Ravus,” Lunafreya says with finality in her tone. “If- _When_ I come back, this will be over.”

To quell further argument, she stands and moves quickly from the room, only just hesitating at the threshold before opening the door, stepping through and letting it shut behind her.

Ignis, Gladio and Prompto all share a set of bewildered looks before getting up to follow her - extricating themselves from a confused looking Talcott, in the case of Prompto and Ignis - awkward and stiff in the silence that follows.

But Prompto remembers the fear of losing someone, the anxieties brought about from separation.

He pauses at the threshold himself, turning to the room of Speakers trapped in that moment of shock and loss.

“We’ll return her to you again,” he says, sounding more sure of himself than he feels. “I promise you that. In the meanwhile, please take care of Talcott.”

Sylva gives him a grateful nod, but he doesn’t want to look too long at it and feel the weight of her trust in him or the desperate stare of Talcott for much longer, so he turns back towards the door and finds Luna, Ignis and Gladio waiting for him outside.

With a silent nod, they set out for their destination with Luna and Gladio at the lead.

“Those were bold words,” Ignis says, once the four of them have fallen into step.

“Who? Me?” Prompto asks.

“Both of you,” he answers, with a pointed look to Luna. “Claiming to be the end of this?” he teases, but it’s friendly instead of sharp. “With such conviction, too. One would think you thought yourself the scholar of the prophecy.”

“Perhaps once I did,” Luna answers, with a strained and tired smile on her face. “But I don’t envy the role you must play in this, the gravity of your duty. Though,” there’s a twinkle of her own in her eyes as she continues. “Not to add to the weight of the world on your shoulders, but Ravus would be unbearable if you die and the demons persist once this is over. Do try your best to stick to the prophecy.”

“And do try your best to stay alive,” Ignis adds. “Prompto here promised you returned, safe and sound.”

“Bold words,” Luna teases, flashing him a smile. “I’ll try very hard not to die.”

“Thanks.” Prompto gives her a half-smile, half-grimace. “And I’ll try my best not to die, too.”

“You know,” Gladio huffs, sounding a mix of amused and annoyed. “One of you could at least _try_ to act like you’re expecting to make it out of this alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ignis: honestly idk what the fuck is going on but i only know two people at this party and i'm gonna follow them. i'm gonna fuckin follow them.
> 
> alt, ignis: honestly idk what the fuck is going on but prompto's going so i'm going bc i want to spend time with him i love him
> 
> give me a little yell on [my tumblr](http://brosura.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/bigkatsanctuary)


	7. when it's dark outside

“I didn’t say it earlier, but thank you all for coming,” the man named Gladio says, just above a whisper. They’re all crouched in an alley just close enough to the Church of Bahamut that they can see the two guards in priest’s habits pacing out front in the dimming light of sunset. “I know this isn’t your fight.”

“Nonsense,” Luna hisses, forceful as when they’d first met. Ignis must admit, he finds her rather refreshingly fiery for a fellow Speaker. And with the weight of having to hide the prophecy from Prompto gone - for better or worse - it’s easier to be around her and her passionate dedication to it. “You’ve done more to help us than we’ve been able to help you. I’m only returning the kindness of your family.”

“And I’m an Argentum, remember,” Prompto adds, with a grin of his own.

Ignis swallows hard at the sight of it. It wasn’t as if his confession to Prompto earlier was a lie, as emotional and desperate an outburst as it had been. It hadn’t been anything but the truth. But saying it out loud, and after all that time of hiding it from Prompto and himself, it was as if something within him had opened.

Like all the focus he’d spent maintaining the lie - about both this place and his feelings - was redirected to Prompto alone.

And that focus is broken by an awkward cough from Gladio.

“Well, thanks to _you_ especially, I suppose,” he says, with a quirk of his brows. “This is even less of your fight, er, didn’t quite catch your name there-”

“Apologies,” Ignis says, only just able to stop himself from stuttering. “I’m Ignis Scientia. I, ah, I grew up with Prompto.”

“Scientia, huh,” Gladio says, giving Prompto an inscrutable look. Prompto balks, but before anyone can say anything, Gladio turns back to Ignis, extending a hand. “I’m Gladiolus Amicitia. Gladio’s fine. Don’t think I introduced myself earlier.”

“You didn’t.” Ignis takes his hand. “For perfectly understandable reasons. That _is_ your sister in there, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Right,” Gladio says, shoulders seeming to sag. “Right.”

Luna sets a gentle hand on his arm. “We’re all here, Gladio. She’ll be alright.”

“And aside from that,” Ignis deadpans. “If they’d truly wanted her death to be a spectacle, we’d have something to _spectate_ by now.”

Gladio snorts. “Suppose that’s true.”

“So, what’s the plan,” Prompto pipes in, that determined set to his brow.

“Right,” Gladio grumbles, leaning out from their hiding place to eye the two guards out front. After a moment, he mutters something like a curse under his breath and turns to the three of them. “Look, I can get us past the door, but past that, I- I may need help.”

“That’s what we’re here for!” Prompto grins, bright and eager. “And, er, what do you mean you can get us past the- Gladio!”

“Shh,” Gladio shushes, as he steps out from their hiding spot. “I’ll give you the signal.”

“What signal?!” Prompto hisses in return, mouth pulled into a grimace.

But Gladio doesn’t answer, stepping towards the priests with the confident gait of a man whose sister was _not_ at risk of being burned alive at any moment. The priests take notice of him near immediately, but to everyone’s surprise, rather than tense and prepare to attack, they _relax._

“Brother Amicitia,” one of the priests says, only just loud enough to hear.

Ignis, who was closest to the wall and thus closest to the priests, feels Prompto and Luna huddling in close, hoping to hear the words that are being exchanged. He tries to convince himself that the flush he can feel creeping up his neck is purely from the extra contribution of body heat.

“Don’t call me that,” Gladio growls, still approaching. “I’m not _one_ of you, Tummelt.”

“But you could be,” the man - Tummelt - insists, sounding hopeful. “Your sister’s fate is sealed, but you can remain blameless, Brother.”

“I protected the Speakers as much as her.” Gladio continues forward, undeterred. “If her fate is sealed, then so is mine.”

“Never _mind_ that! You were one of the most adored in the Church, Gladiolus!” the man continues, desperacy in his tone. Ignis turns to find Prompto and Luna blinking at each other in surprise at the revelation. Clearly, this was new information for _everyone._ “You can still regain the favor of Bahamut if you swear yourself to the priesthood again. It’s not too late!”

“Except that it is,” Gladio growls. The two priests take a step backwards at the sound of it. “It was too late the minute the bishop started calling to _burn_ innocent people and none of you stopped him.”

“Gladiolus, _please._ ”

“Tummelt, you _never_ learn,” Gladio says, closing the distance in a way that’s at once predatory and casual. The men shrink where they stand, and Ignis doesn’t blame them. If Ignis hadn’t met the man at his most vulnerable, he’s sure he would have had his defenses up the minute he saw him, broad and tall and menacing. “I’ve told you, never let anyone angry with you within an arm’s distance. You’re not strong enough to take a punch.”

He says it so casually that neither of the men seem to process the words he’s saying before he’s drawing back his fist and it’s colliding with Tummelt’s face with a sharp _smack_ . The man staggers back, and his partner draws in a sharp gasp that harmonizes with Luna’s hiss and Prompto’s quiet _‘oh shit.’_

Before anyone else can act, though, Gladio steps in quick and precise, and draws Tummelt into a rather painful looking hold around his throat, putting him between the other priest and Gladio’s person.

“Try anything funny and I snap his neck.” Gladio says, cold and hard.

 _“Brother-”_ the man starts.

“Enough,” Gladio growls, tightening his hold around Tummelt’s throat. “Disarm.”

And the man does without much of a fight. His hands are up in surrender as he rises from placing his torch and a set of knives on the ground.

“That all?” The man nods frantically. “It’s your lucky day.”

Without another word, Gladio drops Tummelt and grabs the other man solidly by the shoulders, bringing him down hard on his knee. From where Ignis stands, he can’t see where the hit lands, but he does see the way the man crumples afterwards, collapsing into an unmoving pile on the ground.

“You get to live through this,” Gladio says to his unconscious form.

Tummelt sputters and coughs on the ground.

“You, too,” Gladio says, and before Tummelt can do anything else, Gladio’s lifting him up and striking him solidly in the chest.

He only lets out a short bleat of pain before falling silent and still on the ground as well.

“Don’t get up,” Gladio spits.

And it falls silent for a moment, awkward and still. Something in the set of Gladio’s shoulders speaks to a victory much weightier than the short and rather anticlimactic battle seemed to offer. Ignis isn’t quite sure what to say.

The men on the ground certainly can’t say anything.

Finally, at his side Prompto calls, playful, “So, what’s the signal?!”

Gladio shakes his head, throwing his hands out to indicate the two men collapsed on the ground.

“That was the signal!”

Prompto gives him a delighted grin, and Ignis finds one on his own face as he calls back, “Didn’t quite catch it! Could you show us again?”

In spite of everything, they all snort at Gladio’s exaggerated groan.

* * *

“Are you ready?” Gladio says, serious and straight-faced as he brandishes the two knives he’d taken off the unconscious man.

They seem awkwardly small in his large hands, and Ignis almost wants to tell him that he’s probably better of with his fists, but Prompto’s drawing his crossbow and Luna’s fingers glow a pale blue with the magic she’s called to them and Ignis can’t exactly be _out of form._

He gives Gladio a nod and summons the heat of fire to his palms, intentionally contrasting the ice at Luna’s fingertips. Redundancy is never a good thing.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting when Gladio kicks open one of the large doors dramatically, Prompto rushing into the small gap with his crossbow at the ready. Perhaps a group of men sharpening weapons, a mob arming themselves. A crowd of people, at the least, eager and ready to spill blood.

What they rush into - knives and bow at the ready, ice and fire in hand - is an empty room.

“Um,” Prompto starts, sounding nervous as his voice echoes on the high ceilings and empty pews of an admittedly _beautiful_ chapel. “Did we get the wrong church?”

“No,” Gladio frowns, taking in his surroundings with an expression growing more anxious by the second. “No this is it. She should be here. I don’t understand. Are we-”

Before Gladio can finish with the _too late_ that’s been sitting heavy on all their minds, a small voice echoes from somewhere far away.

“Gladdy?!” it calls. “Gladdy is that you?!”

“Iris!” he shouts back, sounding relieved and desperate all at once. “Iris, where are you?!”

“I’m here! Behind the altar!”

And just as soon as she’s said it, Gladio rushes forward, navigating the chapel like it’s a place he’s been many times before. And it must be, based on what he’d said to the two priests outside earlier.

It’s a little difficult for Ignis to process. He’d spent so long antagonized by anyone who followed the church. He’d never seen anyone within it fight against the ways it’s teachings strayed towards bloodshed the way Gladio had. Especially not in the shadow cast by the bishop’s folly, in Ardyn’s long night. Truthfully, he suspects Gladio’s anger isn’t one out of pure righteousness, has the thought that there’s blood on his hands as well, but Ignis can’t say he’s so above judgement himself.

Either way, Ignis still finds himself satisfied with the relief that surges visibly through Gladio at the sight of his sister - a small girl just skirting childhood, _damn_ those priests - locked in an alcove filled with candles behind a sturdy iron gate.

Whatever Gladio had done in the past, he deserved to see his sister again, at least.

And other than the natural anxieties that came with being locked up, the girl seems in fine health. Ignis wonders at just how much respect this man had earned in the church that even a girl housing heretics gained fair treatment simply by her relation to him.

Before any of them can discuss how to go about freeing her, Gladio orders a rough, “Stand back,” and Iris obeys.

Ignis scarcely has time to blink before Gladio’s pulling at the gate with straining muscles.

“Um,” Prompto interjects. “Big guy-”

But before he can continue, there’s a loud groan as the gate jerks away from it’s frame and Gladio sets it to the side as if it was a wooden plank and not a heavy thing made of cold metal and harsh edges.

“Holy _shi_ -er,” Prompto gulps, blinking nervously at Iris who rushes forward to embrace her brother. “Holy, er, God!”

“Installed the door,” Gladio huffs a laugh, hand coming up to wrap around his sister’s smaller shoulders. “It’s weak at the hinges.”

“Gladdy! I’m so happy you came!” Iris cries, but she sounds more delighted than Ignis had expected of someone a moment away from being burned alive.

He’s about to assign that to her being just a child, and likely unable to understand the weight of her situation, but then Gladio asks, “Where is everyone, Iris?”

“Oh, I sent them away!” she says, cheerful as if it was nothing.

“You… sent them away?” Prompto manages.

“Yeah!” Iris chirps. Then she seems to take in the presence of strangers, blinking with a childlike curiosity at both himself and Prompto. “Gladdy, who are your friends?”

“The loud one’s Prompto,” Gladio introduces with a grin at the way Prompto pouts. “This guy’s Ignis.”

“Prompto, Ignis. Nice to meet you!” Iris greets with a bow. “And Luna! You’re here, too!”

“Of course,” Luna says with a fond laugh as Iris runs to embrace her as well. “I wouldn’t leave you to this fate.”

“This-?” Iris trails off, then understanding dawns in her eyes. She frowns. “Oh yeah, those men were really angry with you Speakers. Is everyone ok?”

“The last we saw them, they were all safe and sound,” Gladio says with a warm smile. “No small thanks to you, brave as always.”

“Oh,” Iris says, eyes downcast. “About that. I may have made things a little worse. When I sent them away, I mean.”

“How so?” Gladio says, patiently, but his shoulders tense along with Luna’s.

“N-nothing much,” Iris says. “I just, I knew you’d come for me no matter what. And I didn’t want you to get hurt! So I said, er, I said that the Speakers were doing something with fire and goats on the other side of town and they all went there. It’s really far from where the Speakers are actually hiding! But, it’ll probably make things worse in the long run.” Iris grimaces. “You know how the church doesn’t like fire and goats.”

And indeed, they don’t. When your major antagonistic deity is a hellish god of fire with cloven hooves, that tends to happen.

But despite the nervousness with which Iris delivers the news, Gladio laughs.

“Ifrit’s ass,” he snorts, rubbing her hair. “I’d forgotten how sharp you were. Good move, Iris.”

And Ignis must admit, it was quite a good move for a teenage girl threatened with death. It’s a rare person whose response to being pressed with a blade is to manipulate the one holding it. The Amicitias are a formidable family.

“But,” Iris asks, looking hopeful and nervous at once. “Isn’t it going to be bad?”

“If all goes well tonight, I think we’ll all recall this tale with laughter,” Lunafreya says, with a gentle smile, brushing back Iris’ hair with her palm. “Until then, only know that I’m not upset with you. You did very well to remove yourself from danger.”

“Oh?” Iris says, beaming up at them. Then she blinks. “What do you mean, if all goes well tonight?”

Before Luna can explain, everything goes very badly.

* * *

“They’re early,” Prompto says, breathless, taking in the sight just outside the doors of the church, just beyond the walls of the city. “The sun’s not down yet.”

And it isn’t. It’s fiery orange slipping just below the horizon, illuminating the storm gathering on the horizon, a hazy cloud of black. But looking closer, it’s easy to see the red eyes of the growing demon horde, like pinpricks of blood.

“Shit,” Gladio mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Shit.”

“Agreed,” Ignis grumbles.

And it’s hard not to curse their lot, with the way the demons surge on the horizon, advancing closer and closer as the sun drops lower and lower in the sky. With the way the screams and panic have already started to echo throughout the town, the noise trapped by the high walls.  

They’ll be safe in the church at least, however long that will last.

Demons always saved the pious for last.

 _“Mother,”_ Luna breathes to Ignis’ left, looking towards towards the part of town they’d come from, hands clasped over her chest.

“I’m going to help them,” Gladio says, laying a hand on Luna’s shoulder and taking a glance back into the church, where Iris waits with the two priests Gladio had knocked unconscious and then dragged inside at the first sight of the demons. “From what I understand, you’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

Luna clenches the hands over her chest, but her answering nod is steady and determined.

She turns without another word, moving to step towards the church again. Ignis moves to follow her, but pauses as he realizes Prompto is still waiting at the door, eyes fixed on the city.

It’s Prompto who shakes his head this time, a grim look on his face as he says, “Luna, I’m sorry, but we can’t go searching for the Sleeping Soldier with things like this.”

Luna frowns, but she looks at him expectantly before voicing whatever objection is in her eyes.

“Demons aren’t like regular enemies,” Prompto explains in response, eyes darting about the horizon, like he’s trying to determine the size of the horde from this far away. “They don’t die easily. But there are- there are secrets to killing them. And the Argentums know those secrets.” Prompto swallows hard, turning to Gladio. “You’re strong, but I’m not exaggerating when I say you’ll die without them.”

“But if we can raise the Sleeping Soldier, then this all comes to an end,” Luna says. “I don’t like this either, Prompto. I don’t like turning away from these people. But even if we can survive the night, we’re only delaying the inevitable by another night.”

“I have to say, I agree with her,” Ignis says. Despite the dubiousness of the Sleeping Soldier’s legend, anything would help. All of Ignis’ fears about cities are awakening with the approaching storm, the fast fading light. They can’t survive like this. “Even with help, a lot of people _will_ die tonight. That’s certain. And whatever chances we have for a defense will be dwindled by morning.” He turns to Prompto, giving him as reassuring a look as he can manage. “If we can’t stop this, then the city will be whittled down to nothing within two days regardless.”

But Prompto shakes his head wearily. “You don’t understand. With _numbers_ like this, and this early. If no one does anything to help, the people of this city _will_ be dead by morning.”

“Ravus is a Speaker-Magician as well,” Luna offers. “He has magic-”

“But that isn’t _enough,”_ Prompto says, sounding exhausted. “Look, I don’t like it either, but the people out there, they need all the help they can get.”

It’s silent for a moment, and Ignis knows Prompto hasn’t made up his mind the way he seems to be trying to convince everyone.

Ignis knows Prompto, knows that if bolstering the ranks of those fighting to survive in the city was truly on his mind, he’d have run off by now. But he isn’t. He hesitates on the steps, scanning the city anxiously, hand resting where he keeps his crossbow.

Ignis knows that despite all the play at decisiveness, he’s as torn as the rest of them.

Prompto wants to search for the Sleeping Soldier. He also wants to help the people. He can’t be in two places at once, but with each second more lives are put at risk.

Ignis hates seeing him like this, hates seeing the way the weight of his duty presses down around him, stifling and choking. But for the first time, he doesn’t hate the role Prompto has to play, doesn’t hate his calling. He only hates himself for neglecting his own.

Prompto has been brave for this long, fighting immeasurable odds on his own. But this wasn’t only the Argentum’s fight.

It was the Speakers’, too.

Prompto should have never been alone to begin with.

Ignis understands that now.

“Then _I’ll_ stay behind,” Ignis says with finality, and tries not to linger on the ways it feels like a goodbye.

Prompto turns to him, eyes wide with surprise and something desperate underneath.

“You only need one scholar,” Ignis explains, gently as he can. He gives Luna a nod that she acknowledges with a nod of her own, her lips pressing to a thin line. “And only one of the scholars here knows the way to the Sleeping Soldier.”

“Wait,” Prompto says, inexplicably desperate as he grabs Ignis’ arm, as if Ignis intended to set out that very moment. “Wait, another Speaker-Magician, er, i-it won’t help much.”

“Certainly,” Ignis says. “But I imagine a Speaker-Magician who’s done a cursory reading of a certain Argentum’s field journal might stand a chance.”

Prompto blinks at him, cocking his head. “You-? When?”

“You were unconscious for a very long time after the incident at the bar, you know,” Ignis says with a fond smile. “I had to do something to entertain myself.”

Ignis isn’t sure what he’s expecting. Perhaps relief, perhaps that determination in the set of his brow now that one of the options occupying his mind can be safely given to another. But instead there’s a fear in his expression, a desperation. He frowns, biting hard on his lower lip as his eyes scan the ground for some kind of answer.

He seems to find it, because in the next moment, he looks at Ignis with a panicked finality in his eyes.

“Ignis, a moment,” Prompto says, words spilling fast from his mouth as he grabs Ignis by his wrist and tugs him back into the church. “I’m sorry, Luna, I’m sorry, just a moment.”

And Ignis, as always, follows him.

He brings them to a small room - perhaps something only for storage - and it’s quiet despite the noise of the city around them. Prompto shuts the door before turning to face Ignis, less than an arm’s length in this confined space. Ignis can feel the warmth of him this close.

But he’s far from able to cherish it, because Prompto’s still biting his lip so hard the skin is white.

He starts and stops a few times, sucking in a breath. Whatever it is he’s trying to say, it’s difficult. And it’s choking him. Ignis wants to do anything to help, but he’s afraid whatever he says will break this moment, will scare him away. He’s hurt Prompto too much already with his words.

“Ignis,” Prompto finally says, eyes downcast. He looks small and scared and trapped like all those times before, and Ignis doesn’t _understand._ “Ignis, you were right about the prophecy. It’s a lie.”

“Come now,” Ignis tries to reassure. He curses himself, for all the cruelty he’d inflicted under the guise of protection. “I was just being contrary, the way I always am-

“No, it’s not that,” Prompto interrupts, eyes growing desperate. “Let me finish, _please.”_

Ignis gives him a nod and falls silent.

“It’s a lie,” Prompto says, then he sucks in a breath. “It’s a lie because what’s down there, what we saw down there - the lights and the ropes - I’ve _seen_ it before.”

And that’s strange to hear. Ignis had found it otherworldly himself.

“It’s- It’s like in the books from my family,” Prompto finally says. “It’s just the way my great grandfather described h- _his_ castle.”

“No,” Ignis breathes. That wretched voice rings in his ear, wreathed in flame, _Simply know that when I return, hell will come with me._ “It can’t be.”

Prompto only nods, grim and certain. “It’s Ardyn down there, I’m sure of it.”

The word is a heavy one, and it cuts through Ignis like a knife.

Ardyn.

The cause of this all.

_Ignis had been there at the start of it. He’d seen the man they’d put on the pyre, rumpled and unassuming, mournful desperation on his face as the body of the child that had been killed - a patient that had been close to healed, he’d later learned - was torn from his arms and laid to rest at the bottom of the stack of wood._

_He didn’t stay a man for long._

_The grief in his face twisted into a snarl of hatred, revealing bone white fangs and redness in his eyes, then he settled into an eerily peaceful expression, aside from the hard look in his eyes._

_Pure hatred, sharp like a knife coated in venom, thrummed through the air with each word he spoke, oppressive and commanding in spite of the evenness of his tone._

_“You humans truly love killing. Men, women, children. Oh, it doesn’t_ matter _to you! And if you can say it wasn’t your fault, even better!”_

 _“Very well. If you want to blame the devil, then the devil will_ provide.”

_“You may not recognize me in this form, but I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”_

_“I am Ardyn Lucis Caelum, and I will be your end.”_

_He was a fire, terrifying and untouchable, and Ignis could feel the way death followed him even in that short moment before he disappeared into an explosion of flames._

“Prompto,” Ignis chokes, desperate. “You can’t mean to face him.”

“I do,” Prompto says. But he sounds uncertain, more uncertain than he’s sounded before. “It’s like Luna said, we can end this tonight. We _have_ to end this tonight. I wanted to tell you, because I might-” Prompto grimaces. “I’ll kill him. I’ll end this. Whether or not I- I-”

He trails off, but Ignis can hear the _whether or not I die trying_ loud and clear as if he’d said it out loud.

Ignis can’t find the words to say in response. It feels like he’s losing Prompto, it feels like he’s slipping through his fingers. It feels like he can’t do anything to stop it.

 _He didn’t want to separate because he was afraid to tell me this. He didn’t want to come here because he’s not ready._ Ignis realizes, something bitter at the back of his throat. _We’re both liars._

“Ignis, I need to tell you something,” Prompto says sounding exhausted and resigned in a way he should never sound. When Prompto finally meets Ignis’ eyes with his own, there’s tears threatening to escape them. “Argentums aren’t supposed to fear death, but _I am afraid._ ”

Prompto sucks in a sharp breath, and Ignis’ hand goes to his cheek unbidden, his need to comfort overriding his fear of breaking the delicate thing between them. Ignis brushes a thumb over Prompto’s cheekbone. It hurts to see him like this, hurts to not be able to do anything for him but this. To his surprise, Prompto reaches up and holds it in his own, grasping tight, clinging to it like a lifeline.

Prompto squeezes his eyes shut, a few stray tears escaping from between his lids, before sucking in another breath.

“I don’t want to die there, Ignis,” he admits. “Even though it’s my duty, I don’t want to die. I want to- I want to stay with _you.”_

Under ordinary circumstances, the words that come out of Prompto’s mouth should have filled him with joy. To love someone and be loved in return is all that he could have hoped for in this world. And to be loved by someone like Prompto should have been an endlessly happy thing.

But the fear in Prompto’s eyes as he meets Ignis’ only makes the words sit heavy on his gut and Ignis once again can’t find the words to respond.

He wishes they had more time.

He prays for it.

It’s all he can do.

He prays.

“Ignis, about what you said,” Prompto says, squeezing Ignis’ hand against his cheek. “I want to say it back. I lov-”

“Hush,” Ignis interrupts as gentle as he can, hoping he won’t curse himself for this later as he swipes his thumb across Prompto’s cheekbone again. “If you truly wish to say that to me, then tell it to me when you get back. Don’t act as if you’re going to die before you’ve even tried.”

Prompto’s face scrunches up and he presses Ignis’ hand to his cheek with a desperation that tears at Ignis’ heart, but the smile that finally breaks his mournful expression is just warm enough that Ignis finds himself smiling in return.

“Seems reckless, for you,” Prompto struggles to say with a shaky laugh. “Leaving it like that. That’s asking for trouble, don’t you think?”

“You’ve been trouble for me since the very beginning,” Ignis says, but the fondness of his smile removes any of the harshness in his words.

Tearing his hand from Prompto’s cheek is almost painful, but they’re losing time and there are people out there that need them.

But only a moment later, Prompto grasps his face, pulling it close. He feels the dry press of lips against his forehead then Prompto’s pressing their foreheads together until they’re close, breath shared between them.

Prompto’s voice is raw with emotion and determination as he says, “Salt your blades. Don’t use fire.”

“Find a priest to bless water,” Ignis adds. “Yes, yes, I _read_ your notes.”

Prompto laughs, leaning heavier against Ignis’ forehead. “Know-it-all.”

They spend a moment like that, just a moment longer, cherishing the feeling of being close, of being loved, even if it hasn’t been spoken in words. Ignis, at least, tries to find hope in the press of Prompto’s forehead against his.

It’s Prompto that breaks the moment, tapping at Ignis’ neck.

When they pull away from each other, Ignis sees that determination in Prompto’s eyes, that familiar stubbornness. There’s still fear, but there’s hope too, and Ignis finds something stubborn in him awakening in turn.

Prompto gives him a short nod.

“Don’t die,” he says, as if Ignis hadn’t already made up his mind.

He won’t die tonight.

He refuses to.

“Don’t die,” Ignis echoes. “Now, _go.”_

* * *

Luna and Prompto are already lowering themselves into the catacombs by the time Ignis regroups with Gladio at the front of the church.

“You two kiss goodbye?” Gladio says without preamble, and it’s the _suddenness_ that causes Ignis to choke.

“Excuse me?” he manages to stutter.

“Nothing,” Gladio says, with a knowing smile on his lips.

But it doesn’t stay there for long. A shout from the city draws both their attention, and Gladio’s brows furrow at the sound.

“How do you want to do this?” Gladio asks, he turns to Ignis, raising an eyebrow. “You _do_ know how to kill these things, right?”

“I do,” Ignis says, feeling defensive at the way Gladio eyes him dubiously. “Well, we should either bring Iris to the Speakers or bring the Speakers here. They’re safer together.”

Gladio sounds gruff, but his expression is grateful as he says, “We can take Iris. She’s fast, good at hiding. If we keep a low profile we can get her to the Speakers no problem.”

Ignis says something in the affirmative absentmindedly, his mind working through the notes he’d read, the chaos in the city, the many, _many_ things he’ll have to do before the night is over.

“Ah,” he starts, remembering Gladio and the priests. “Gladio, those men said you were part of the priesthood.”

Gladio gives him a curious look. “Not anymore, I left that path a long time ago.”

“Well,” Ignis corrects. “What I’m asking is if you’re still ordained. Can you still perform rites?”

“Huh.” Gladio’s brows furrow together in concentration. He crosses his arms. “Y’know, I think I still can. Don’t think they ever got around to _actually_ excommunicating me.”

“It’ll do,” Ignis says, with a wicked grin. “Where’s the nearest well?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iris, imprisoned by an angry mob: hey you guys can i have some updog  
> angry mob: what's updog?  
> iris: :3c
> 
> gladio: i was voted hottest priest in the diocese three months in a row. as u can guess, i made a few enemies...
> 
> give me a little yell on [my tumblr](http://brosura.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/bigkatsanctuary)


	8. you light the fire yourself

“Were you able to confess your feelings?” is the first thing Luna says once they’re deep enough in the catacombs that the only noise is the echoes of their footsteps and their soft breathing.

Naturally, Prompto chokes.

“I-I’m sorry?” he manages, relieved that his sudden noise hadn’t attracted anything from within the catacombs “H-how-?”

“We could hear you two arguing earlier, you know,” Luna says, eyes amused and only slightly apologetic. “You were right outside the door.”

“E-er, right. Sorry,” Prompto says, but he can’t dwell on the embarassment at the revelation that everyone, including Luna’s perpetually angry older brother, heard Ignis tell Prompto he loved him. The air around him is oppressive and stifling, and he doesn’t want to think about the possibility that this will be his grave, not when he has to admit, “I-I didn’t.”

Luna looks a combination of sympathetic and triumphant as she says, “Ah. A pity, then.”

And perhaps it’s the expectant silence, perhaps the desire to focus on anything but what lay ahead of them, but Prompto finds himself wanting to tell her more.

“He told me to wait,” Prompto shares, remembering the moment in the church. Ignis had been warm and close, and it had taken everything within him to pull away. He hadn’t been lying when he said he wanted to stay. “I tried to tell him, but he told me to wait.”

Luna hums in something like understanding, keeping pace with him as they tread carefully down the long hall.

“It’s funny,” Prompto finds himself saying into the short silence. “We’ve been friends since childhood and he’s always been important to me, but I never thought it-” he winces. _Never thought his feelings for Ignis ran this deep, never thought Ignis would return them, never thought he was worthy of them in the first place, after everything. Never thought he’d have to carry them with him as he went to a near-certain death._ He hadn’t thought of a lot of things. “I just, I didn’t expect things to end up like this. And of all the times, you know?”

“If his magic is as sharp as his tongue,” Luna says, with a small smile. “Then he’ll survive this yet. You’ll have time.”

She says it with such confidence that Prompto wants to believe her.

And to a certain extent, he does. He has faith in Ignis.

But she has no idea what _they’re_ heading towards.

The guilt finally sets in, far too late. He knows the danger he’s put himself in, but as far as Luna is concerned, they’re merely here to face a few trials and awaken their savior. She doesn’t know what, or rather _who_ , they’ll be facing.

He stops in his tracks and she follows suit, looking at him with a curious quirk of her brows.

“Luna, I have to tell you something,” he says, meeting her eyes. “This mission isn’t what you think it is.”

“I’m sorry?” She tilts her head, but waits patiently for an answer.

“The Speaker’s have stories about this place, right?” She nods, and Prompto swallows hard. “Well, the Argentums have stories, too. N-not about the Sleeping Soldier, but about a place like this, overrun with monsters and with torches that light themselves.

“The stories- my great grandfather’s stories say that this is the place where _he_ lives,” Prompto feels the weight of the revelation on his own shoulders. “The vampire of legends.”  

“Ardyn,” Luna finishes, lips pressed to a tight line.

“This is dangerous, Luna,” Prompto says as affirmation. “More dangerous than you expected. I won’t be upset if you turn back, I can find my way to the center of this place on my own.”

Luna doesn’t say anything for awhile, eyes focusing on some point in the distance as she seems to turn the thought over in her head. Her expression is grim, but underneath it there’s something like curiosity instead of the fear Prompto was expecting.

It’s funny, but she reminds him a bit of Ignis sometimes.

After a long moment, Luna sighs and turns to him.

“Truthfully, there was once a time when I hoped _I_ would be the scholar of legend,” she admits. “I hated the way we waited and waited, for the hunter and then for the Sleeping Soldier, watching the people around us suffer all the while. I hated the way that even after training, after mastering my magic, I could barely do a thing to help anyone. I hated that the only way Ravus and the others wanted to help was to clean the wounds of the people after.”

She pauses, and when she meets Prompto’s eyes, her expression is all steely determination as she says, “And perhaps it’s the same hubris that lead me to the place where you found me, but I have never once stopped wanting to bring this to an end. If facing Ardyn is the way to do it, then I will gladly risk my life to kill him.”

Prompto blinks at her.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he certainly wasn’t expecting to hear something so familiar coming from her for the second time. He’s sure the same words must have come out of his own mouth not a few days prior.

But that was before, when he’d been willing to risk everything.

Still, seeing Luna leave her mother and brother with only the hope of a savior go on to accept this burden so readily is still encouraging in it’s own way.

It’s a good feeling, not being alone.

And he feels Luna’s determination resonate within him, giving voice to the almost selfish thing that had stirred and awakened when Ignis told him he loved him.

_He’ll survive this if he has to fight tooth and nail, if he has to crawl out of here. He’ll survive this._

They both will.

“Maybe _you’ll_ gladly risk your life, but I won’t risk it so gladly,” he teases with a shaky grin. “You said you’d do your best not to die, remember?”

“I do,” Luna laughs, in spite of everything. She gives him a warm smile. “And I will, so long as you promise me the same. You have someone waiting for you, after all.”

“I do,” Prompto says with a small smile.

He’s never had this before, never had something to go back to. He remembers Ignis’ hand, warm against his cheek.

_He’ll survive this._

“And who knows?” Luna says, interrupting his thoughts. “Perhaps the Speakers are still right and it’s only the Sleeping Soldier at the heart of the catacombs.” The grin she gives him is fierce. “Care to wager?”

* * *

 

The way down is longer than Prompto anticipated, and far quieter.

They haven’t encountered any demons or creatures like the cyclops that had nearly killed Luna, and while this should be a source of comfort, it only fills Prompto will a sense of growing dread with every step he takes towards the heart of the catacombs.

A justified feeling, he finds, as he and Luna enter a room with a high ceiling and tall shining black and white walls.

Those self-lighting torches brighten on the wall the second his foot lands on a tile that sinks back into the floor.

“Er,” Prompto stutters, looking to Luna with wide eyes.

But before either of them can say anything, the ground gives way beneath them and they both plummet down into darkness, screaming.

On instinct, Prompto pulls out his whip and twists himself to find Luna, and in the process, looks down to find gleaming spikes rushing up to meet them.

 _Fucking_ spikes.

“Luna!” he shouts, holding out his hand as he desperately searches for some hold for his whip.

He’s relieved to feel her take it almost immediately, and he tugs her close just as he spots the metal pipes running along the ceiling. It’ll have to do. He feels Luna wrap her arms around his neck as he draws his arm back.

The whip strikes forward, wrapping around a pipe, but he’s sure they’re still going to graze one of the spikes. Then he feels the rush of magic coming from one of Luna’s hands and they’re being pushed up and towards what seems like a safe ledge by a strong wind.

They land hard, separating from each other as they tumble.

“What is it with this place and _falling?!_ ” Prompto whines as he tries to stand, but he doesn’t get any sort of answer before the platform is tilting and they’re sliding down it.

Towards what seems to be a _pit of fire._

“Shit!”

“Hold on,” Luna yells over the rush of air as they fall quickly towards the flames.

He recognizes the blue glow to her fingers and not a moment later the air around them is cold. There’s a growing platform of ice that they slide over, the flames licking at the sides of it.

They have to leap over the last section as it crumbles from the heat of the fire, landing hard yet again.

Prompto’s tense for a moment, expecting another trap, expecting to fall through yet another floor. But he only draws himself to his full height, eyes wide in awe as he takes in the sight before him.

It’s a door, spectacularly tall and ornate.

Fine metals loop in an intricate design over a heavy, dark wood. It’s almost _regal,_ and not at all what Prompto was expecting from the vampire who was hailed by legends as the source of all the scourges of hell. Still, it fills him with a deep dread regardless.

“Do you suppose this is it?” he says, voice cracking.

Luna dusts herself off as she stands, somehow less impressed by the door than Prompto.

“If I had to guess,” she says, dryly. “I would say it is.”

The weight of the situation hits Prompto all at once as they come to a stop before the large wooden entrance.

He turns to Luna to coordinate some sort of plan in the event that this is the battle that will end everything, but the door starts to creak open before he has the chance. They both tense as it groans and creaks, Prompto drawing his crossbow and Luna’s fingers lighting up with magic.

But the room is empty.

“This keeps happening,” Prompto says around a breathless laugh, the sound echoing off the high walls of the chamber as they enter the room.

They’re both still tense - Prompto’s fingers itch on trigger of his crossbow - but there doesn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary about the room even as they step into the middle of it, looking around in a mix of anxiety and awe.

It’s elegant for an empty room, not a trace of dust or the passage of time.

Only cold, glossy stone, deep black, shining and elegant, accentuated with accents of gold and a clean white. The only notable things about the room are what appears to be dais with an altar made of the same smooth stone as everything in the room, a veritable armory of intricately accented weaponry of a dark metal, and the self-lighting torches, bright and hung on every cold black pillar.

“Luna,” Prompto says with a nervous gulp. “Is there...supposed to be a chapel underground?”

“I don’t know,” Luna answers, eyeing the dais warily. “The prophecy says nothing of this.”

And Prompto feels the weight of the implication.

The prophecy didn’t speak of this place.

So this place wasn’t from the prophecy.

Which meant...

Prompto readies his bow and moves towards the dais, hoping to find something there that will at least help them piece together what they’re meant to do from here. It’s the only visibly distinct thing in the room and it seems like a safe bet.

Until Prompto steps forward, feeling one of the uniform glossy black tiles sink beneath his weight.

“Shit,” he curses.

He hears the humming of Luna’s magic behind him as air hisses visibly from between the tiles, following a path leading straight towards the dais. The altar is not an altar, it seems. Air hisses again as the top of the altar separates from the rest of it.

“Luna,” Prompto grits out as the lid slides fully off the altar. Curiously, it doesn’t hit the ground. “Be ready.”

The next moments are tense as Prompto realizes too late that it was a _coffin._

A coffin that a pale, half-naked man rises from. Really, _truly_ rises.

He hovers out of the coffin, an imposing figure floating in the air above the deep black dais. His hair is nearly as dark as the tiles of the room that hangs messily about his shoulders, bangs obscuring his eyes. The man is facing half away from them, so Prompto gets a view of the jagged scar running the length of his pale back before he turns slowly in their direction.

“Is that-?” Luna wonders out loud, breathless and full of wonder. Before he can stop her, she asks, in a steady voice. “You- are you the Sleeping Soldier? The one from the legends?!”

But Prompto doesn’t know what the Sleeping Soldier looks like. Prompto also doesn’t know what Ardyn looks like.

All Prompto knows is that what’s before him, hovering above the coffin, hair still strewn over his eyes as he tilts his head slowly, is a _vampire._

_He promised he wouldn’t die._

He fires his crossbow.

It strikes true with a wet sound, lodging itself in the vampire’s shoulder near what _should_ be his heart.

 _“Prompto!”_ he hears Luna hiss, but he doesn’t get a chance to respond because a moment later, and the vampire is rushing towards him.

Prompto just manages to dodge under the hand reaching for his throat.

As he ducks, he gets the first glimpse of the vampire’s face, his expression is eerily flat. His golden eyes are dark like a storming sky, but they feel like ice as they flick down and fixate on Prompto.

He tumbles out of the way but hears the air hum with the force of the vampire’s bare heel cutting through it, striking just where Prompto’s head had been. He curses and draws his whip, unfurling it as he shouts to Luna.

“This isn’t the Soldier, Luna!” he manages. “This is a vampire! It’s _him!”_

He doesn’t hear a response, though, because the vampire holds his arm out towards the dais and a blade rises from the coffin and flies to his hand.

It’s an elegant thing, shining and polished.

Prompto can’t appreciate it much because in the next moment it’s slashing downwards towards his chest. He yelps and sidesteps as quickly as he can, pulling his hand back and aiming the whip at his assailant’s hand.

The whip cracks and wraps tightly around the vampire’s wrist, and Prompto can see it sizzling at the contact.

 _Consecrated leather,_ his journals had said. _Burns the undead._

He pulls, honestly surprised to catch the creature off guard, and leaps in the air to use the momentum of his entire body to flip the creature over him and against the wall.

The vampire collides with the wall upside down, cracking the smooth black stone as it does. Its sword falls from its hand and clatters on the ground. But Prompto’s displeased to find not a hint of pain in its expression as the dark hair falls away from its eyes.

Instead, there’s only focus, cold calculation as it stares him down.

“Shit,” Prompto breathes, as it rights itself in the air and pulls the arrow - the arrow that it had _ignored_ until this point - from its shoulder and Prompto watches in horror as the wound closes itself until there’s not a scratch on the creature’s skin.

It drops the bolt, and there’s only enough time for it to clatter against the ground before the creature raises its hand. Immediately, there’s the sound of clanking metal as the weapons on the wall - a mixture of swords of many sizes, an axe or two, a spear, and countless other blades - shake and come to life, hovering in the air until they’re floating at their master’s side in a menacing line.

Prompto gulps and in the next instant the creature stretches a hand towards him and the blades answer their master’s order.

“Shit!” Prompto curses as the veritable armory flies towards him.

He scarcely has time between each crack of his whip, barely managing to dodge and deflect each blade. In his desperation, he misses one short sword and he shuts his eyes braces himself for the pain.

But the pain never comes.

Instead, there’s only the cold.

He blinks his eyes open to find the blade only inches from his face, completely encased in ice.

“Luna!” he gasps, and he turns to find her fingertips glowing pale blue, brows furrowed in concentration.

She doesn’t answer him, instead she shouts and reaches her arms out and upward. Sharp blades of ice rise from the ground and fly towards the vampire.

None of them strike their target, but they force the vampire to move, to dip and duck out of the way of the ice, deflecting some of the shards with his weapons.

Prompto sees the opportunity he’s been given.

He cracks his whip in the direction of one of the floating short swords and is relieved to find that it follows when it’s pulled by his whip wrapped tight around its handle. He spins it around his shoulders and elbow, building up momentum, and looks to Luna.

She nods, and the ice blades form in a row, cornering the creature against one of the high black pillars. Prompto seizes the opportunity and rolls the whip over his shoulder and grasps it to swing down hard with the shortsword.

It should collide, they should be done with this. The creature has nowhere to go.

But instead the sword clangs loudly against another blade. Prompto curses as a flurry of weapons circle the vampire, deflecting both his blade and Luna’s ice.

He has no time to do anything else before the blades fan out, tips pointed outwards menacingly. The blades fly towards them and he hears Luna scream as he deflects the one that would have struck his heart.

He turns to call her name but immediately a cold arm is at his throat and he and the creature fly back until Prompto’s head cracks against the cold stone of the wall.

His vision swims for a moment and he feels his whip slip out of his hand before he can stop it. And then it’s like he’s drowning with the way he can’t breathe with the creature's arm pressed against his throat.

He gasps and struggles against the creature, desperate for any air at all, but it only presses harder, unwittingly trapping his crossbow and bolts against Prompto’s body and the wall.

Panic rises in his gut as dark spots swim in the edges of his vision.

He doesn’t want to die here.

He can’t die here.

_“If you truly wish to say that to me, then tell it to me when you get back.”_

Ignis.

_Ignis._

As if an answer to his prayers he remembers Ignis in the catacombs, that sly smirk on his face as he refused the knife Prompto was trying to return to him.

 _“You keep it,”_ he’d said. _“I don’t want to clean it.”_

Prompto fumbles to his belt with the last of his fading consciousness and reaches the hilt of the blade. _Right where he’d left it._ Without further thought, he plunges it into the creature’s side hoping to hit its heart.

The creature doesn’t make a noise or any indication of pain, but it does seem to pause, and it pulls away just enough that Prompto is able to suck air back into his lungs with the desperation of a man brought back from drowning.

He gasps for a moment, wheezing against the arm still pressed up against his throat.

When he finally manages to chase away the spots at the edge of his vision, he blinks to find the vampire looking at him with an expression of open curiosity. It’s not the pain he was hoping for, but it’s a comfort compared to the cold blankness from earlier.

“Argentum,” the vampire says in a low and deep voice, brushing a hand over the symbol on Prompto’s chest. “I know your kind.”

“That’s right,” Prompto grates out. His throat is still sore and painful from the ordeal. “We kill things like you.”

“You _did,”_ he clarifies, sounding unconcerned despite the blade Prompto presses harder into his side. “I thought the church got rid of you, the way you tried to get rid of us.”

“Seems like both of us managed to get out of it,” Prompto says with a smirk and twists the blade in the vampire’s side.

To his satisfaction, that manages to coax out the slightest inkling of a wince.

“Why are you here?” the vampire asks, sounding almost annoyed.

“I already told you. I came to kill you and end this,” Prompto says, pressing the blade harder as he hisses, _“Ardyn.”_

The vampire’s golden eyes gleam red and a stormy expression crosses his face as Prompto feels the arm on his throat bearing down harder.

“If you came to end this, then you should know what the people out there did to begin it,” the creature says, voice cold, face expressionless yet again. “They didn’t hesitate to kill a child, just like they didn’t hesitate to kill your family, all for only associating with the things that they fear. What reason do you have for wanting to end my reckoning. My Scourge? You, of all people, should know how little they deserve it.”

“I’m not doing this because they deserve it. They don’t have to,” Prompto answers, honestly.

He thinks of all the people he’d taught, the ones who accepted it and the ones who beat him for it.

He thinks of all the people who were kind to him, the Speakers and all the strangers he met along the way.

He thinks of all the people he’d met, struggling to save people in this cold and cruel world that had only hurt them for it.

He thinks of all the people who did good even though they didn’t believe they were good themselves.

He thinks of all of them, and he thinks of Ignis.

“I fight because someone, anyone out there _might,_ and I don’t need to know who they are or what they’re going to do with their lives to think they deserve the chance to live to do it.”

The creature gives him a long, inscrutable look, and Prompto wonders if those will be his last words. They’re not awful, as far as last words go, but he was hoping for something a bit more fiery, a bit more passionate.

But then, against all his expectations, the creature’s entire countenance softens - the hardness of his face smoothing into something less vicious and cold and something almost _human_ \- and he pulls away. Prompto lands on the ground softly and the creature sets down in front of him, removing his knife. Prompto watches absently as the wound stitches itself together until he’s staring at smooth skin.

“You’re the one, then,” the creature says with a small smile, offering Prompto his knife.

Prompto’s honestly so surprised at the sight of the smile that he can’t do anything but gape at the vampire for a moment.

“T-take it,” the creature presses, holding out the knife with more insistence.

But Prompto doesn’t get a chance to, before he hears the padding of footsteps and then Luna’s behind the vampire, her fingers alight with a pale blue glow.

“Drop the knife,” she says, her voice cold. As Prompto looks at her, he can see that a corner of her robe was torn open and thanks the gods that that seemed to be the only part of her hit by the vampire’s blades. “Drop it or I’ll make my ice grow through your skull.”

“And you’re the other one,” the vampire says, his tone tinged with annoyance. He holds the knife towards Prompto more insistently, but not before flipping it so that the blade is facing away from Prompto. “And I’m trying to _return_ it, as you can see.”

Dumbstruck, Prompto takes the knife, stashing it back into his belt absentmindedly.

“There, see?” the vampire says. “You can stop wasting your magic now, _scholar.”_

It’s just one word, but it’s like a splash of cold water. Prompto blinks wide eyes at Luna who he’s sure is mirroring his own bewildered expression.

“Are you-?” Luna starts.

“The Sleeping Soldier,” the vampire finishes. “I suppose that you could say that. I _have_ been sleeping for-” the vampire frowns, hands coming up to pinch at a lock of his hair. “How long was I sleeping?”

“Before I answer that,” Prompto says, finally finding his voice all at once. The words spill from his mouth before he can realize he’s speaking to a vampire and also a _legend._ “I’m sorry, but how did you get here? How long were you, well, I guess you wouldn’t know. And just- just who _are_ you?”

Surprisingly, the Soldier’s expression is grim when he turns to Prompto and Prompto can see something like _rage_ in his eyes when he says, “I’ll answer your last question first. My name is Noctis Lucis Caelum.”

 _Lucis Caelum._ Prompto tenses at the words. _Ardyn’s surname._

The vampire - Noctis - only rolls his eyes at that. “Before you draw your weapons again, know that my _uncle_ and I are no longer on speaking terms, as one might say.” He turns to them, presenting his back and the jagged scar along it. “This was his parting gift from our last argument. He was very adamant about wiping out humanity with some invasion by the denizens of hell and I wasn’t prepared to let that happen without a fight.”

“If you were injured at the start of this,” Luna says absent-mindedly, brows furrowed in concentration. “Then you’d been sleeping a year.”

“That would do it,” Noctis says, looking dissatisfied as he pinches at his hair again.

“But you’re a vampire,” Prompto asks breathlessly before he can help himself. “What business do you have wanting to help humans?”

Noct’s expression is inscrutable as he offers Prompto a small smile in answer.

“I’m only half a vampire, you know,” he starts. “The other half of me is human, just as my mother is- _was_ human. And my father, he loved humans until the moment he was killed for it. He loved the things you did with your short lives, the wondrous stories you told and the wondrous things you created. All the ways you could be kind and cruel.”

“And,” Noctis’ eyes are sad, swimming with something like grief as he says, “and my uncle used to think so, too. He loved humans just as much. There was a time when he would have given everything to protect humans, and sometimes I wonder if it was _me_ that-”

Noctis sucks in a breath.

“So, I don’t want to see the world of humans end because of the folly of a few,” he says. “I exist as proof to the fact that there’s kindness and love in both humans and vampires, regardless of however painful the momentary violence is. So, I’ll defend humanity to my dying breath. I _have_ to.”

Noctis laughs, something hard and tired.

“I suppose that’s the attitude that brought Lady Shiva to me as I slept in my ancestral home to recover from my injuries, otherwise I’m certain there’s some real hero out there better suited to this than me...” he frowns, but then turns to them with a nod. “She told me of my role to play in all this, as well as yours. She told me I would be the Sleeping Soldier, and I would wait for a hunter and a scholar.”

“If you’re the Sleeping Soldier, then why did you attack us?” Luna frowns. She’s almost _scolding_ this immortal half-vampire, and Prompto somehow isn’t surprised. “I asked for you by name, and you _still_ attacked us.”

“You attacked first,” Noctis shrugs, looking inexplicably sheepish for someone who’d nearly _killed_ them. “And I- I didn’t know who you, er, I wanted to know if you were strong enough for what’s to come.”

Prompto frowns. “For what’s to come?”

“You said it already,” Noctis says, meeting Prompto’s eyes with steely determination. “We’re going to kill Ardyn.”

And he says it with such finality that Prompto almost forgets about the obstacles, the things that are to come.

The battle with Ardyn.

The battle that Noctis will have to face against his own family.

The way he and Luna will have to risk everything yet again.

But somehow, in spite of everything, Prompto’s hopeful. Noctis is strong, at least. And he and Luna have proven that they’re both stubborn in the way they cling steadfastly to life.

And once this is over.

_Once this is over._

“Right,” Prompto says, feeling confidence rush through him alongside that familiar breathless giddiness that came from surviving something drastic. Underneath that, there’s a different kind of giddiness. _He’ll see Ignis again._ He arms himself with his crossbow. “Let’s end this.”   

Noctis blinks.

“Oh, you thought-” he stutters, balking. “No, we’re not doing this now. My uncle isn’t here. We have to- He’s back in Lestallum.”

“O-oh,” Prompto stutters back. “I-I mean. Well, that’s good! We can even- we have, er, we have friends out there that can help.”

“Great,” Noctis says with a short nod. “We’ll need it.”

An awkward silence falls between the three of them, the saviors of humanity.

“Ah,” Luna finally says, with a bright and vicious grin in Prompto’s direction. “I’ve won the wager!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> noctis, wearing a shirt that says 'teenager who just woke up': i just woke up  
> prompto: u ALmoST MURDerED Me IS WHAT YoU DID
> 
> give me a little yell on [my tumblr](http://brosura.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/bigkatsanctuary)


	9. the trick of it is, don't be afraid anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you're almost free lads

“Hold the line!” Ignis shouts the command over the weary ranks they’d managed to scrounge together to defend the fortress they’d made out of the Church of Bahamut, some of them Speakers, some townsfolk, some still dressed in a priest’s habit. “We’re only minutes ‘til dawn, _hold the line!”_

Even as he tries to project confidence, he’s not quite sure they can make it. They’re tired and bloodied. Gladio still prays steadfastly over buckets of water that are brought to him, though his right arm is bleeding from the wound he sustained protecting a woman and her child. Even Ravus’ fury has died down to a smoldering thing and he looks moments away from unconsciousness with every ice wall he summons. Ignis can feel his own magic starting to wane and die out, but he refuses to accept this as the end.

If he has to fight his way through the horde still charging towards their doors with only his knives, rubbed with salt, then he’ll do it.

He won’t allow anyone in here to die.

He won’t die, either.

He’s so focused on the enemies in front of them that he doesn’t hear the gasps from behind. Doesn’t realize what’s happening until he feels something fly past his head and into the skull of the demon he’d been fending off with a pike.

_A crossbow bolt._

Despite his better judgement, his eyes widen and he turns to face the source of the bolt to find Prompto and Luna.

And someone else, surrounded by floating swords.

He doesn’t have a moment to think about it before the _someone else_ raises a hand, and the swords fly forward to spur a symphony of demon shrieks as they hit their marks. The men he’d been commanding, too weary to question the _undoubtedly_ supernatural nature of the newest addition to their ranks, relax and drop their pikes, staring on in slack-jawed awe.

The ensuing battle doesn’t last long, despite there only being three people participating in it. Between Prompto’s crossbow bolts and whip, Luna’s ice, and the stranger’s swords, the demons’ numbers dwindle to next to nothing in what seems like only a few moments.

It’s an amazing sight, to be sure, but all Ignis can focus on is Prompto.

The ease with which he fights is different than what Ignis had seen before. He seems lighter, almost giddy as he fires bolt after bolt into the horde of demons, and Ignis feels a lightness within him in turn. Like they’re boys again, and Prompto’s made him find the wonder in some stupid little thing as they laugh and play by the fire.

Like Prompto’s the sun, and he’s brought the dawn with him early.

And in a sense, that’s exactly what happens.

A moment later, and the few demons surviving screech at the beams of light stretching over the horizon, the wiser ones among them scurrying to escape over the wall.

“You scared them off,” Prompto laughs, sounding breathless with excitement. “Look at you!”

“Wasn’t me,” the stranger says with a shrug that’s very nonchalant for someone who’d killed demons with the blades that now hover ominously behind his back. He points at the rising sun. “It’s dawn.”

“Oh, right,” Prompto blinks, looking to the stranger. “Are you going to be ok?”

And Ignis would think it was a strange question to ask, if the stranger didn’t turn and give Ignis a glimpse of sharp fangs as he answered in the affirmative. That’s a question to be answered later.

Because Prompto turns to him and gives him a wide, triumphant grin and the sunrise doesn’t matter, it isn’t the brightest thing here anymore.

“Master Argentum!” Talcott cries from somewhere behind Ignis, rushing to throw his hands around Prompto’s waist.

Prompto laughs something warm and delighted at the sight of the boy as he greets him by name, and Ignis only just manages to reign in his instinct to rush to Prompto and embrace him, but can’t stop a grin of his own from pulling at his lips.

And it’s for the better that he doesn’t make a scene, because Prompto and his new friends have already made one and continue to do so as they stand casually at the threshold of the church, the stranger’s blades floating behind him.

“Er,” Prompto starts, as he realizes the attention they’re getting.

The slack-jawed looks of awe and wonder. Most of them look grateful.

But many of them also look afraid.

“You need to leave,” a priest by Gladio’s side says in a harsh whisper, urgency in his darting eyes as they scan between Prompto and the Speakers, who huddle and embrace Luna in a corner. Even with the force of his order, it doesn’t seem unkind, since his gaze is bouncing between the Speakers and the regular, church-going Insomnian citizens. “I’m sorry, I know you must be tired and I doubt anyone in this room will attack you, but it would be safer for everyone that you leave.”

And Ignis doesn’t doubt it, fear can make people do drastic and awful things.

He’s only grateful that they’ve been given this chance before the surprise fades and the suspicion sets in. Before the mob begins to form.

The silence as their small troop of Speakers and misfits gathers and files out of the church is broken by an old woman, rushing up to grasp Ignis’ sleeve.

“Thank you,” she says, holding a sleeping child close. Watery tears brim in her eyes. “Thank you for what you’ve done here.”

He remembers Old Nan, remembers the children that she’d protected. No one had thanked her for it, but she hadn’t been upset when they’d come as a mob instead.

The child in the old woman’s arms sleeps onward and he thinks he understands.

It feels like it’s almost enough.

* * *

“So, your, er, _friend_ is the Sleeping Soldier and the half-human nephew of the greatest evil of our time,” Ignis manages to say, feeling the near absurdity of the situation wash over him in waves.

It’s a lot to process, but evidently he seems to be the only one processing it.

The other Speakers regard the newcomer - _Noctis,_ he reminds himself - with a mixture of awe and hope as he fidgets uncomfortably in the little shack the Speaker’s were using for shelter, the shack that had, _miraculously_ , survived the night.

But Noctis is certainly… something else. In between fidgeting with his long dark hair, he’s pulling Luna’s too-small Speakers cloak tight over his chest, drawing attention to the fact that he isn’t wearing a shirt underneath it.

As far as saviors go, this isn’t what Ignis was expecting.

But Prompto grins, bright and mischievous, and Ignis heart leaps and he supposes he wasn’t expecting a lot of things.

“That’s right!” he says, grin turning viciously pleased. “And we’re setting out as soon as we’re able.”

“Setting out?” Ravus begins, looking like he’s prepared to protest.

Luna cuts him off gracefully.

“Our duty isn’t finished,” she begins, that serene smile on her face. “We head to Lestallum as soon as we’re ready.”

“We’re going to kill my uncle. We’ll end this,” Noctis finishes, his eyes shining dangerously, every feature in his face etched with a grim determination.

For a moment, Ignis sees the hero he’s supposed to be.

But then the moment’s over as Luna continues with, “Mother, you and the others should leave, too. Return to Tenebrae. Get away from all this. Our role to play is over in this city. I’m worried that what’s to come… I’m worried there will be a storm.”

Sylva’s eyes are weary, but her expression is set with the same stubbornness Ignis has seen in her daughter as she says, “If there is a storm to come, then we shall meet it.”

Lunafreya frowns and moves to speak, but Sylva only holds up a hand, using it to gesture towards Ignis after Luna has clearly given up on arguing. “Thanks to the young Speaker-Magician here, we now have the means to defend the people from the Scourge until you three can end it.” Her smile turns sly as she directs it to Ignis. “And you know how powerful knowledge can become when it falls into the hands of Speakers.”

“Indeed,” Ignis manages to laugh. “I do, ma’am.”

“Then it’s done,” Sylva says, and it feels over as she says it. “We’ll stay in this city, build up the defenses. We’ll remain an eyesore for Ardyn until you can remove his eyes from his sockets.” Her face softens at the way Luna seems to deflate, and she rubs a gentle hand over Luna’s cheek. “And don’t worry about us, Luna. I’m sure your brother and I can manage without the scholar of legend.”

Luna gives her a weak smile back as Ravus grumbles, and Ignis promises himself that he’ll do everything in his power to help her return to her family here.

There were so few stories like this that ended happily.

_If they could all be exceptions..._

It’s another thing he’ll have to pray for.

“Ma’am,” Gladio says from the bench he shares with Iris. “If you’re standing with this city, then I’ll gladly stand with you.” He grins to Ignis, cocky and irreverent. “Seems like I’m not enough of a heretic that I can’t make some _good_ holy water.”

“Go on then,” Sylva says with a warm smile. “The three of you have a long way to travel.”

“The four of us,” Ignis corrects with a grin in Prompto’s direction. “I may not be the scholar of legend, but I think you’ll find some use for me.”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something,” Prompto says with a sly grin. “Welcome to the team.”

“Before we leave,” Noctis interrupts before either of them can get lost in their own world, a place just for the two of them. He flinches as everyone in the room turns to him. “Could I, ah, could I get a shirt?”

* * *

They scarcely make it past the threshold of the door before Prompto grabs Ignis’ wrist and starts pulling.

“A moment, Luna!” he says, sounding gleeful and bashful all at once. “I’m sorry, just a moment!”

And before anyone has any time to question him, least of all Ignis, he’s dragging Ignis away bodily from a bewildered Noctis and a smirking Luna.

They end up in an alley not very far from where they started, shaded from the sun and quiet but mercifully free of any corpses or blood. Before Ignis has the chance to ask what’s happening, Prompto turns towards him, grasps him by the collar and yanks him gently downwards.

He processes first that Prompto’s very close, his eyes shut only a breath away from Ignis’ own. Next, that their noses are pressed at an awkward angle.

Finally, that their lips are pressed together, soft and sweet despite the force with which Prompto had initiated the kiss.

The kiss.

They’re kissing.

Something clicks in Ignis at the realization, and his hands come up to tangle in the hair at the back of Prompto’s head. It’s greasy and dirty, but it feels right between his fingers as Prompto’s arms come up to wrap around his neck to grasp at Ignis’ hair in turn. His mouth opens against Ignis’ and the kiss becomes warm and _wet_ and so good Ignis nearly forgets everything but Prompto, pressed against him.

He doesn’t know quite how long they’re like that, but the kiss eventually ends and he returns to himself at the soft smacking noise as they part.

Prompto looks breathless and awestruck as he looks up into Ignis’ eyes, arms still up and wrapped around his shoulders.

“Hey,” Prompto says, softly and with a warm smile. “You didn’t die.”

“I couldn’t break a promise,” Ignis says with what he’s sure is a foolish looking grin on his face. “You didn’t die, either.”

“Couldn’t break a promise, _either,”_ Prompto repeats with a breathless laugh. He bumps his forehead against Ignis’ playfully. “So, do I have your permission to say it now?”

And Ignis heart is giddy with the energy of a child experiencing the wonder of the world for the first time as he teases, “I don’t know, perhaps I should forbid you from saying it until Ardyn is dead and we’ve both made it out of this alive. It worked so well the first time.”

 _“Ignis,”_ Prompto scolds, but he’s smiling all the while.

“Very well,” Ignis concedes with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “I suppose there’s no stopping you.”

“Good,” Prompto laughs, then his eyes go so soft and fond that Ignis’ breath hitches at the sight of it. His voice is quiet, but certain as he says into the air they share between them, “I love you, Ignis.”

“And I love you,” he manages to say around the warm feeling in his chest.

The silence that follows is warm and familiar as they lean against each other, taking in the warmth of another person, finding strength in each other. Once this moment is over, they’ll have much to do and much to survive before they can truly live at peace. And perhaps, for people like them, peace is something they’ll never truly experience.

But it doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter.

They have this.

They have each other.

“Gods,” Prompto laughs into the silence. He’s still leaning heavily on Ignis, tucking himself into Ignis’ shoulder like a cat. “What I wouldn’t do for a beer right now.”

Ignis blinks for a moment, then laughs at the realization, a memory that had faded under the stresses of the night that returns to him with clarity.

He’d passed by a bar on the way to fetch the Speakers before the sun had fully set, stolen a skin and filled it with beer in some single-minded foolishness that he would have hated himself for if it had put him in any actual danger.

“Actually,” he starts, hand reaching down to his belt under his robes, and Prompto turns to him with a genuine surprise.

“You’re _kidding!”_

“We were about to enter a battle to the death, I wanted something to steel myself,” Ignis laughs as he produces the skin, still full with whatever beer was in the abandoned bar. It’s a lie, though. He’d intended to give it to Prompto from the very beginning. “And alcohol is an _excellent_ anesthetic.”

“Oh heavens, Ignis,” Prompto grins, ignoring the liquor in favor of pulling himself close to Ignis again, pressing their foreheads together. Ignis can feel the warm puff of his breath as he says, with a half-serious expression, “Just marry me and be done with it.”

“Tell it to me once we’ve survived killing the great evil, my dear Prompto,” Ignis says with a fond smile of his own. “And I just might consider it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's a wrap!! we're all free!!!
> 
> i hope u enjoyed my extremely niche 34k fusion fic.
> 
> also if ur wondering the endgame i have imagined that i probably won't write bc i'm just busy is that they have a really fun roadtrip to ardyn (not really that fun) and ignis is injured in the fight with ardyn, but they succeed! talcott is their son now! prompto shares his knowledge with the speakers and frees himself from the burden of being the last argentum! they live happy lives and don't get the plague! nice!!
> 
> as always, give me a little yell on [my tumblr](http://brosura.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/bigkatsanctuary)


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